


These Tethered Heartbeats

by jg82



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Season 7 AU, Swan Queen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-03-31 01:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13964004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jg82/pseuds/jg82
Summary: 10 years. That's how long they've been here. How long her now adult son has unknowingly suffered. How long she has been a mindless marionette--strings pulled by a twisted puppeteer...even in this moment, as she sits--awake--mourning. 10 years. And no one has broke the curse she cast to save her family from soul shattering tragedy. No one. Not even those she wants to believe it would matter to the most.





	1. Wish That You Were Here

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to avoid doing this. Wanting to finish my other stories out before even jumping into this pond. But my mind won't let go. It keeps creeping in as I finish up my next chapters for 'Of Stable Boys, Mothers, Heroes, and Villains' as well as 'Bear Witness my Existence'. Sigh. So here it is, my AU interruption of Season 7. Because I just cannot--CANNOT--accept that Emma would do nothing for ten years while her family disappears from sight. Hook and a new child aside, she knows what it is like to be abandoned. To be ignored, to be sent back because a new child or relationship has come along.
> 
> She just wouldn't. Her character was not designed like that. Is she a runner? Absolutely. But the spin they tried to push to make her disappearance acceptable is just utter, and absolute, bullshit.
> 
> Whew. 
> 
> So, enjoy! :)

_**Hyperion Heights** _

 

     Regina Mills sits staring at the photograph of her and Henry, one from his youth that feels like another life, while she sips a glass of whiskey in Ronie’s--no _\--her_ bar. The conversation they just had is still circling her mind, chewing away at her brain. Spitting out thought after thought--and emotion after emotion--trickling what feels like a never ending stream of tears down her face.

     10 years.

     That's how long they've been _here_.

     How long her now adult son has unknowingly _suffered_ . How long _she_ has been a mindless marionette--strings pulled by a twisted puppeteer...even in this moment, as she sits--awake--mourning.

     Drizella was right. She had taught her well.

_Too well._

     10 years.

     And no one has broke the curse she cast to save her family from soul shattering tragedy. No one. Not even those she wants to believe it would matter to the most.

_Time is a funny thing,_ she tries to reason with a deep ache in her heart. _Add in realm jumping with curses, and suddenly everything you once knew is in question. The things, and people, that were an absolute, are now...uncertain._

 It leaves her wondering.

    _Do the others know?_

_Are they also here somewhere?_

     Or are the faces she’s dying to see once again just living their lives in little Storybrooke, Maine. Oblivious. Pondering--perhaps--every now and then, where they have disappeared to.

     10 years.

     And she’s never felt more helpless, and alone, than she does in this moment

 

*****

 

_**Somewhere in Oregon** _

 

     She sits staring at the worn photo in her hand.

     The one that features her family.

     The one she’s incapable of letting go of.

     Their faces are a bit faded, thumbed away by fingers clutching too tightly over the last decade. The bright red scarf and lipstick have dulled. Their matching black pea coats starting to lose definition. Even the scenic waters behind them have lost their blues--tinting away to a murky grey that makes her sick to the stomach to even think about.

     The only thing that hasn’t dissipated with time and wear are their smiles and bright, bright, eyes.  _Like mother like son._ The thought pains her. Even now.  _Ten fucking years._ She sniffles, eyes wet with tears that are too tired to fall.

     The bed she’s resting on suddenly shifts slightly behind her, and she feels the comforting presence of the other woman in the hotel room change from slumber, to attentive wakefulness.

     “What time is it,” asks a deep--familiar--husky timber, making her bite her lip in both heartache and soothing comfort.

     “About two in the morning,” Emma Swan replies, her own voice a gravely mix of torn about emotions and sleep deprivation.  _Or last call,_ she thinks, glancing at the empty beer bottles on the stand beside her with a wince.

     A supportive hand reaches out, coming to rest on her hunched shoulders with silent understanding. She closes her eyes, letting her head hang wearily with a sigh. Delicate, but deadly fingers extend--gently pulling the picture from her grasp--slipping it behind and out of sight.

     “You need to rest,” the brunette urges, running those knowing fingers down her spine, coaxing her back until she’s pulled her legs up onto the hotel mattress beneath their shared covers. Her head hits the not soft enough pillow the same time her vision is consumed by commiserate brown eyes and a perfect lip scar.

     “We’ll find them,” assures the doppelgänger from her now hidden photograph. “Have faith, Savior. We’re almost there.”

     She nods, throat too constricted with suppressed sorrow to answer back.

     The bedside lamp she had left on remains so. Illuminating the walls of the room with a harsh yellow tint. Neither of them are willing to allow too many shadows into their tiny suite. They have enough ghosts between them to fill the darkness with hoards of screaming terrors, and if they were to dull the light, something tethered inside of them might fade away all together.

     “Remember to call Alyssia in the morning,” the woman rumbles in her ear, settling back down once more. Head tucking in as close as possible without physically lying upon her.

     “I will,” she assures, pulling a firm arm across her stomach. Grounding them. Securing the reality that they are here. That they’ve made it this far.

     The Evil Queen form of her best friend and mother to her son hums in acknowledgment. Then sighs. Her own troubled woes wisping across the hairs on her neck.

     Ten years she’s been searching.

     Hunting. Looking. Jumping from realm to realm. Never knowing if she’s one step closer to getting back what she’s missing...or a million miles away. If not for the woman curled against her right now, she’d still be running in circles, lost and desperate for a clue--any clue--to where Regina and Henry have gone. All it took was one look, one plea, and her Majesty was in. Willing, wanting--just as much as Emma--to retrieve what has been stolen from them.

_Ten years._

     And Emma has never felt more terrified, as well as more certain, about anything as she does the family she’s afraid will not want her back after what they have been through.

     “Rest,” the Queen growls, tapping the side of her head with an impatient finger.

     Sighing, she tries easing away the tension keeping her stiff, and closes her eyes.

     Hoping, wishing, that sleep will come to her before the approaching dawn eats away at the remaining twilight.

 


	2. I Wanna Wake Up Where Your Love Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. I went back to season 7 to see how things progressed versus what I want to do. Man, even a couple episodes in and I know for certain I'm going AU about quite a few events. 
> 
> So, now that I have that set, I hope to have weekly updates :). 
> 
> On to the story then!

**_Oregon_ **

 

_“Crying eyes, broken bells”_

_Back in course, no one tells_

_Down we go, wish me well_

_I don't know where we fell_

  _Oh, I had a dream that you couldn't hear me screaming_

_Trying to tell you everything but it wouldn't stop you leaving..._

 

Bishop Briggs - Dreams

 

 

     “Yeah baby,” Emma smiles weakly at her phone, “I'll call you again when we get to our next rest stop.”

     Mischievous hazel eyes--much like her own, framed by dark chestnut curls--bounce in excitement on her screen. “Good.” Alyssia’s twelve year old face splits into a wide toothy grin. “I love you mom! Tell Queenie the same for me?”

     “I love you too,” she swears, heart constricting in her chest, vision misting over with suppressed tears of affection. “And I will,” she promises with a chuckle as it breaks past her coffee flavored lips. “I Promise." Kissing her fingers, she taps her cell’s face twice, before waving goodbye.

     The connection ends then, leaving her standing alone against her yellow bug in the early morning sunlight outside their Inn. She swallows the lump forming in her throat away, glancing at the date and time on her device, while slipping it into a back jean pocket.  _3 weeks._ That’s how long it’s been since they were last home.  _Miles upon miles of endless driving._ Though it’s not the most time she's ever spent separated from Alyssia (and she’s not ready to face that trauma today), the weight of the last 10 years has lately made each passing sunrise feel like lifetimes of opportunities are being torn from them. A sensation she's already barely enduring with the other half of their family missing.

_Soon,_ she convinces herself, even as doubt and insecurity nibble along her spine. _We’ll find them soon._ Rubbing at the deep longing behind her breast bone, she pulls in a calm--reassuring--breath, and lets it out slowly. _Soon._

     The sound of heels on pavement draw her attention away from the weariness warring with hope in her veins, and she looks up to finally see her Majesty striding--dressed to the nines in this world's latest version of elite styling (as she likes to call it)--confidently her way.

     “About time,” she grumbles, unlocking the car as the brunette approaches. Her gaze lingers on the form-fitting blue dress being hugged by an open black leather jacket matching Stuart Weitzman sandals.

_So like Regina would wear._

     “All good things come with patience,” the Queen replies, patting her cheek fondly when she opens the passenger door for her. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint, you know.”

     Grunting in response and rolling her eyes, her lips--nevertheless--twitch as warmth spreads through her while she walks around to the driver's side.

     “How was your call with Alyssia,” the older woman enquires, as she settles into her own seat. Pulling out a map, the royal ignores the way the bug stutters to life--holding on, like them, with its last threads of life.

     “Good,” she says, putting the car in gear and pulling out of the Inn's parking lot onto a highway littered with local businesses, franchise eateries, and apartment complexes scattered along distant suburbs. “She misses us.”

     Raspberry painted lips twitch in adoration while those ever present fingers reach out, interlacing with her own--squeezing. She flexes her digits right back, pushing the yearning for her youngest down to focus on her eldest.

     “So what are you feeling?” She glances at her Majesty as they approach a distant light.

     “North,” the Queen murmurs, gaze drifting over the pen marked worn out paper. “Somewhere,” she circles a black polished nail in a far upper state corner, “around here.” Lifting whiskey orbs shadowed by smokey makeup, the brunette asks, “What do _you_ think?” Those intelligent eyes shift--fleetingly--down to her chest.

     Wetting her lips, she feels the organ flutter hard and strong at the marked outlines for Washington. That rooted longing within her which has kept her going for so long, plucks--like a guitar string reverberating out--making the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

     She sucks in a sharp breath and nods. “Yeah. Definitely.” Eyes flickering over the map twice more as they reach the light--her turn signal on--the city of Seattle sticks out to her in a way she knows better than to ignore.

_Definitely North._

     “And I think I know where to start.”

 

*****

 

**_Hyperion Heights_ **

 

     She didn’t sleep at all last night.

     Horrible memories plagued her each time she closed her eyes, leaving her even more exhausted than any lack of rest could. She feels numb and yet too full all at once. Her chest, like someone has pierced her heart with a fiery arrow, burns with unbearable yearning.

_Like a soul aflamed._

     It’s disturbingly similar to the year after the very first dark curse broke. When she had felt miles away from the son who was easily within her grasp. Except this time there is no one here to assist her in reaching Henry.

     No cricket therapist.

     No meddling mother.

     No blonde Savior, just as lost as she is, on how to make everything right.

_Emma._

     The minute the other woman was back in her head she had scoured her phone for any trace of her. Pictures. Email. Social media links. She dialed number after number that she could recall, devastated with each passing hour at how fuzzy the details of the digits were. Even worse--she doesn’t know at the moment if it’s her doing, or Drizella’s.

     “No more trusting dark haired brats with mommy issues,” she mutters, spiking her morning coffee with a shot of malt Irish Whiskey.

_Gods, what I wouldn’t give for a bottle of my cider right about now._

     The horrendous late summer rays of the sun streaming in the loft above her business make her wince--brightening the brick living space with far more cheeriness than she possesses. For a split second, she wonders what Snow and Charming would think of the place. _Homey, no doubt._ A pang of loneliness strikes once more like a bell in her bones.

     Shaking it off, she makes her way towards the door leading to the bar below, pausing--for a second--when she catches sight of her reflection in a nearby mirror. She glares at the bags barely hidden by makeup under her eyes.

     “Uck,” she grunts, lip curling in a sneer.

_I look like hell. Which matches perfectly how I feel._

     Everything about herself that she use to know is different. Her hair, her clothes, even her posture. It’s all so much more like...like...

_Sigh._

     She grimaces, unsure how to even continue facing the Emma Swan issues in the light of day.

     “One thing at a time,” she rasps to her own ears, squaring her shoulders as she takes a drag from her cooling drink. “Let’s just start with who _is_ here, and go from there.”

     Reaching the dividing door--black boots echoing off the spiraling metal staircase--she hits the second oak door with a bare shoulder, pushing it open with a ricocheting thud.

    The sound, for a moment, soothes her volatile frustration.

     But not her pounding headache.

     “Dammit!”

 

*****

 

**_Just outside of Seattle, Washington_ **

 

     “I wonder why they traveled so far.”

     The Queen’s murmured pondering pulls her attention away from the clustered multi-lane traffic ahead, her honey brown eyes now hidden by a pair of Revo carlisle gold aviator sunglasses as the morning moves along.

     “I don’t know,” she replies, having thought the same thing more than once on their cross country journey. “Maybe to make it harder in finding them?”

    Her Majesty shrugs in consideration.

     But the pursing of her lips suggest she has another notion as to why.

     “Hey.” She reaches out, eyes flickering between her and the road, laying a supportive hand on a soft thigh. “Talk to me.”

     The Queen remains silent for a beat or two. Head turned, face focused out the passenger window. She’s about to pull back, thinking the brunette isn’t really in the mood to talk--rather just thinking aloud--when she suddenly shifts her legs, and drops a hand on top of her own.

     “The bottle,” she rasps, clearing her throat, shifting her gaze to the city in the distance. “I can’t stop thinking about the message.”

     She’s tensing. Before she can even retract her hand, the Queen his gripping it hard--holding it in place. It’s a reflexive action. Both to the mention of the bottle. And to the man who had sent it.

     “I know.” Her Majesty rubs against the bones just under her tanned skin, trying to sooth the pounding emotions that are exploding within her. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. But we have to take into consideration that what we think we heard isn’t exactly what we believe it to be. Especially now.”

     “What the hell does that mean? What’s there to question,” she snaps, tugging herself free as she struggles to catch her breath. She feels trapped inside her body and the car. The need to escape still so overpowering after all this time. “I thought the message was pretty fucking clear!”

     “Was it?” The harsh questioning timber breaks through her rising panic attack--pushing her from anxiety into bubbling anger.

     She forgets, at times, that the brunette beside her is the part of Regina she use to butt heads with the most. The confrontational--no holding back, pick you apart until your bones are clean--side. The one she can’t hide from when she desperately wants to the most.

     “Tell me, Savior,” the Queen continues, an aggressive edge creeping into her tone that grates against her nerves. “How many times have you listened to it? Hmm? Taken it apart, dissected every piece of it, until you fully understand what it is revealing? Since that night it dropped into your lap, how many times?”

     “I know what it says!” She glares at the woman--resentment at the insinuation swelling.

     “Do you,” the brunette challenges. “Or do you know what you _want_ to hear?”

     She slams her free hand against the steering wheel in frustration.

     Unwilling to answer.

     Not because she can’t argue against that.

     But because she knows what her Majesty is implying.

    “Regina wouldn’t do that,” she breathes through clenched teeth. Fingers wrapping firmly around creaking leather. “Not now. Not to Henry. Not to me.”

_No matter what. Not after all this time._

     There’s a moment of silence between them, and she almost thinks her Majesty is truly reconsidering her own belief. But then she opens her mouth, and her next words drop an ungodly weight deep into her gut--sinking her down with compounding feelings of sorrow...and devastating fury.

       “If it was me, and it _was,_ I would have manipulated this curse just like I had the last.” The refined brunette doesn’t turn her way. Just keeps her protected gaze locked on the road ahead. “I would save Henry at any cost. Even if that price was you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof! Queenie doesn't hold back on her punches! Though, to be fair, she's not wrong. I do, however, lover her and Emma's physical interaction. It speaks volumes to the level of comfort they have developed, and leaves us wondering how that has emerged.
> 
> I also feel bad for Emma. I'm hoping most of you have an idea about 'The Bottle' and 'The Curse' in season 7. However, if you don't, I will explain more about them and the surrounding events as the story progresses. 
> 
> I'm really digging the Roni personality shining through Regina. She's probably my favorite at the moment to play with. It's like one day Regina looked in the mirror, said "Fuck it" shrugged off her suits, and found comfort in that badass kind of way only she would. Gods, I adore her!
> 
> Oh. At some point I'll also explain all those "Feelings" everyone is experiencing. Though the title of this story does kind of say it all ;) I just owe you the layers weaving it together. And the song! Gods, if you haven't listened to "Dreams" by Bishop Briggs, you must! I looped that for hours before sitting down to write this.


	3. All This Wandering Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another update! :)
> 
> I was worried this one was going to hurt because of the ridiculously sad music I've been listening to all weekend long. And it does have a bit of an emotional rollercoaster to it. But you can thank the Hyde Queen for adding some fluff and humor as we finally get her point of view on things.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Oh, my heart, Oh, my mind_

_I am torn by the twilight_

_One sees dark_

_And one sees light_

_What is wrong and what is right?_

_Now I can't recall_

  _Where I belong_

_What I believe_

_I been looking for something, oh no, to carry me_

_If I find what it is I need_

_Maybe all this wandering round and around, it will finally_

  _Stop my heart, Stop my mind_

_Stop the long loss of time_

_So shut me up_

_Shut me down_

_No more picking sides_

_So I can't recall_

 

_“All this Wandering” - Ivan & Alyosha _

 

**_Hyperion Heights_ **

 

     The day progresses painfully with each passing hour.

     First came opening the bar to strangers that have her constantly keeping track of them over her shoulder, or out of the corner of her eye, because she doesn't know who is a part of the curse--who is not-- and who might be one of Drizella’s minions. It’s like being back in Leopold’s court all over again, and the memories of that horrific point in her life are brewing under her skin like a nest of bugs dying to crawl out and eat her alive.

     Then came a familiar face.

     The worst one of all.

_Henry._

     She tried her best to keep her emotions in check as he delivered a box of fresh donuts and coffee with that handsome smile she loves so much.

_Gods, he looks like a Charming!_

     He had chatted her up about Lucy and Jacinda Vidrio--the two lost loves in his life he has no clue he’s missing out on. It tore at her heart to hear him talk about the young girl’s persistence in keeping him around after seeking him out. How he feels like Lucy, with eyes and hair much like her own, is trying to set him up with her mother because she’s in desperate need of a father figure.

     Which is true.

     Because her ten year old _nieto_ , just like her son at that age, is the only other Mills who is awake like her.

     The burden of that fact had made her tongue thick, and her eyes glisten with tears she could not bring herself to shed. When her short worded replies trembled past her lips, and his haunting hazel gaze grew concerned, she was forced to wave him off. Claiming--embarrassingly so--that it was just hormones getting to her.  _And unbearable guilt._ It was pure torment having Henry right in front of her and not be able to tell him that he was under a curse. That the scripted life he has is all a lie.  _Of the sin I committed once more._

     However, now she understands--gut twistingly so--the frustration and heartache he went through when he realized her original curse was real. How it must have gripped his soul with sorrow to see everyone around him in such a false state of existence.  _How I unwittingly punished him with a facade of happiness._ If she had only understood the true price of magic when her mother had used it on her the first time around, perhaps she would have run away and all these lifetimes of suffering never would have occurred.  _But what's done is done._ And she’s here now, trying to undo yet another grave mistake by her own blood stained hands.

     After a promise of him stopping in again tonight for a game of darts, she was finally left to wallow in her misery for a few more hours. Until her next torment--and only tiny shred of hope--came strolling through the doors during her afternoon rush.

     Detective Weaver.

     Otherwise known as, Rumpelstiltskin.

     The sight of him both infuriated her, and instilled such a rush of overwhelming nostalgia, that it made her stomach roll. Of course _he_ would be here. If there is any absolute in her life, it is that the Dark One will forever be apart of it. Since his affair with her mother long before her birth, the trickster Imp has been a blight upon some of her most arduous experiences that she just can’t get rid of. No matter how much she has tried.

_And right now, I can’t afford to. Especially after he came inquiring about Henry on the behalf of THAT woman._ She shakes her head. _Drizella may be a spoiled manipulative brat who thinks she’s pulling all the strings, but she’s nothing compared to HER._ Drying another glass and pushing her deeply seeded rage aside, she focuses back on the events of the afternoon while finishing her prep work for the evening crowd who will be piling in soon enough. She _‘harrumphs’_ for a moment, trying to grasp the hard reality that she, Regina Mills--famed Evil Queen--owns a _bar_.

     In Seattle, no less.

_Of all the places to send us to..._

 Sigh.

     When Rumpel had approached her so casually, for a moment, she had let herself rejoice in the notion that he was likely awake, just as he had been each time before. Then he opened his mouth, eyes roaming everywhere but directly into her own, and the little ember of optimism that had lit itself in her soul, fell dark.  _He’s just another puppet._ _Unable, or unwilling, to be an exception to the dark magic holding us hostage. What, after everything we have been through, could keep him at bay like this? Is it Belle? Or something else?_ Either way, if he’s not on her side, then he’s another problem to add to the puzzle pieces of this blasted malediction. Another headache. Another pawn lost in a game of chess she’s playing with her family’s life.

     Hearing the distant miniature clock tower resting on the decorative high shelf that runs along the back of of her bar strike with an aged _‘cling’_ , she breaks from her thoughts and glances at the odd Storybrooke replica--wondering for a moment when it last chimed.

_Huh. I didn’t even know that thing actually worked._

 

*****

 

**_Seattle_ **

 

     Emma lays on the horn for the third time in just as many minutes, before she’s finally had enough. Reaching over without second thought, she taps the agitated blonde’s tightly gripping fingers on the wheel, and points to a nearby parking lot.

     “Pull over,” she commands, though her tone isn’t harsh.

     She receives a scathing glare nonetheless, but ignores it just as she has every other since the day the Savior arrived at her castle door like a lost girl in need of salvation.

     And wine.

_Gods, had THAT been one hell of a fortnight._

     Feeling her own physical discomfort and frustration mounting, she waits out the younger woman shifting the car into park and pulling the key out of the ignition, then reaches over and slides her hand between the Princess’ head and the padded seat just under her curling blonde locks.

     “Magic is not an exact science in this situation, you know that,” she reminds her, rubbing at the knot she knew would be squeezing on the nerves of Emma’s spine. “Though driving in circles swearing and beeping at the local peasants may feel rewarding, it’s not getting us anywhere.”

     “I know,” the Sheriff grumbles, closing her eyes and leaning into the touch. Taking in a few deep breaths through her nose, she pushes them out past those lovely pink petal lips.

     “Hmmm,” she hums, a smirk tugging at the corner of her own, “and yet here we are.”

     The Savior sighs, turning to stare out at the passing traffic as night descends upon this overly crowded steel and glass city. She doesn’t need to see Swan’s face to know charming features are morphing into a forlorn look. She can _feel_ her melancholy. They are, as is obvious to anyone, a unit. Or, more precisely, three quarters of one.

     “I don’t do this for everybody, you know." She emphasis her meaning with a slight tug on a curl, earning a glimpse of a phantom smile, and the slightest blush on tanned cheeks.

     “Just the pain in the asses you can’t get rid of when they are having a tantrum, right?”

     She chuckles, the memory of that conversation washing over her like a warm wave of magia. “Indeed. A Queen,” she whispers, dropping her voice in that wanton timber that always manages to get the hairs on Emma’s arms to stand up, “knows how to handle her subjects, after all.”

     The girl shakes her head, pausing for a moment to adjust the bones in her neck--letting them ‘pop’ with a groan of satisfaction--before replying with sarcastic affection, “You always say the sweetest things.”

     She shrugs, pulling her hand back with a final tender scratch to the younger woman’s scalp. “I try.”

     They sit in silence, decompressing from the hours upon hours of driving through this damnable place--following the mutual pull in their chests. All they’ve managed to do since arriving this morning is go in circles while eating mediocre take out and stopping at marts or gas stations with questionable bathrooms. She’s lost count of how many cups of coffee she’s had in the last twelve or so ungodly hours. Not counting the one spiked with a bite of whiskey that unfortunately found itself splashed against the side of some ignorant buffoons Mercedes after the lewd comment he shouted at her while in passing.

_What a waste of a perfectly good drink._ Running fingers through her shoulder length hair to sooth her own malcontent at their terribly fruitless endeavor, she registers the desperate need within her body to stretch and get the numbness out of her royal rump. Catching sight of a neon sign for a bar just down the block, she sighs in relief.

     “Lets get us a pint.” She doesn’t wait for Emma’s input. Or corrective muttering of _‘let’s get drunk, you mean’_. Whether the Savior protests or joins her, she doesn’t care. Well, that’s not entirely true. She _does_. But teasing the princess is one of her favorite games to play. It helps keep them mentally sound when their frayed tethers of hope lose yet another string of possibility.

     So--with that in mind, and her need for a burning refresher growing by the second--she steps out of the bug and into the cool north western night.

     “Do we plan on getting a room around here,” the blonde asks, hesitating only a minute before deciding to join her.

     She tilts her head in consideration. “Perhaps. Let’s see where the evening takes us first, hmm?” She flashes one of her famous mischievous smiles. “Who knows what places we might find ourselves after a few indulgences.”

     The Sheriff wrinkles her nose as she shoves one hand into a back pocket while the other comes up habitually to rub unconsciously at her chest. “The last time you said that I found myself naked in a barn stall.”

     “Ah,” she gasps in mock protest, “I was there too!” The insinuation of having left her astray completely unfounded.

_Mostly._

     “Yeah, but at least you recovered _your_ clothes,” Emma pouts, eyes drifting to the bar sign she had spotted from the car. “I still don’t know where the hell mine went.”

     “Bottom of that empty barrel of mead I assume,” she replies dsimissively, feeling a sudden peculiar prickling sensation tickle at the base of her spine as they approach the brick facade and tinted glass door.

     She draws her bottom lip in with her teeth, slowing her pace--a compounding sense of déjà vu beginning to poke at her consciousness. She knows they have never been here before. Granted, over the last ten years she has seen much of this land--among many others in different realms. But this is the farthest they have traveled yet.

     “Roni’s? Huh.” Emma glances her way, a kind of buzzing sound starting to stir between them. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

     “I don’t know.” She draws in an unsteady breath, her fingers tingling like the air around them is beginning to fill with unconfined magic.

     It’s always been present with them, no matter where they have traversed. She assumes it has much to do with how entwined they are with one another. That, in some astronomical chemical reactive process beyond the physical manifestations of magia, they are their own little power source. But _this_ ...this _ambience,_ is distantly familiar yet foreign all at once. Like touching a ghostly remnant of yourself.

     Or vice versa.

     “Ready,” asks the Savior with a roll of her shoulders, startling her from her thoughts.

     Hand reaching out of its own accord, she clears her throat, and gestures the younger woman forward while pulling the door open. “Ladies first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I freaking love writing these three! I mean, things absolutely suck for all of them. But, by the Gods, they are funny and endearing. Especially Queenie herself! I'm having a blast with her wicked sense of humor and mischievous streak. Over the last ten years her and Emma have apparently had quite a bit of--Fun? Entertaining coping habits?--to help them endure the tragedy befalling their family. 
> 
> I just hope those carved in habits don't suggest to Regina that they haven't been seriously searching for them. Or that they aren't as heartbroken and lost as she is. We all have our ways of surviving, of getting through day by day when all you can see is everything lost with barely a flicker of hope in gaining it all back.
> 
> I guess we'll find out when they all come crashing together in the next chapter. Henry will presumably be there as well. 
> 
> Whew.
> 
> I'm already bracing for the storm.


	4. You're Somebody Else in Color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this next chapter up since I'll be traveling this weekend. I'm going to Disneyland! :D. Really. It's a family vacation, and my first time ever visiting. I can't ride, and I'm no young 20 something, so I'll just be meandering about soaking up the sun, the sights, and the booze.
> 
> I might get time to post a follow up in the next week. I might not.
> 
> Please don't hate me for that. :(

_Well you look like yourself_  
_But you're somebody else_  
_Only it ain't on the surface_  
_Well you talk like yourself_  
_No, I hear someone else though_ _  
Now you're making me nervous_

_“You’re Somebody Else” - Flora Cash_

 

**_Roni’s Bar_ **

 

     They’re playing darts like old friends.

     A beer each in hand.

     A shy smile on their faces as her patrons enjoy the cooling night festivities.

     Her heart warms each time he wiggles his eyebrows, while her chest burns with longing and vibrant memories. Henry-- _her_ Henry--is as mischievous and awkward as he’s ever been. He rambles about his writing and Uber career. About the book Lucy swears is more than fiction. About Jacinda, who's not quite sure what to make of his intentions after he returned her wayward daughter home...and the fact that he keeps finding himself back in Hyperion Heights for no solid reason than he is just _here._

     It’s everything they have ever been to one another, and not enough, all in the same breath. Through the passing hours he asks her little inquisitive questions, eyes observant--demeanor, casual.

_Just like Emma._

     She answers the best she can without revealing much. The curse a constant pressure on their time together. She tells him about her love for animals--horses in particular--and homemade apple cider. How her controlling mother helped instill her wild streak, and why her past is the ire behind her dislike of a manipulative she beast that shall not be named.

     How _romantic_ love has never really been on the table for her.

     And she’s alright with that.

     They’re getting reacquainted. That’s how she’s currently handling it. Laughing along with his corny jokes. Tapping their glasses with each refill. Keeping her emotions suppressed as much as possible so she can have this moment with her son and _not_ be overwhelmed.

     It’s embracing the tiny shreds of normalcy that the curse will assuage to.

  _The sense of peace I can find among the fold of chaos._

     So when the fire in her chest suddenly flares up--spreading down her arms in a rush that almost feels like magic--she ignores it.

     Waves it off as heartburn.

     Because, right here right now, she doesn’t want anything to interrupt what her and Henry have going. Nothing. No one. Not a thing.

 

*****

 

     A sensation of _home_ washes over her the second they are through the door.

     So strikingly so, that she has to suck in a sharp breath and close her eyes for a beat--a myriad of feelings sweeping through her like fingertips trailing across her skin. Smells of honeysuckle, rye, wheat, barley, and forest ignite within her nose, tugging at senses and phantom faces forgotten years ago.

_Tinkerbell. Maleficent. Papa..._

     There’s a glow seeming to emanate from the semi circular bar ahead--one she can envision even behind her eyelids--and it pulls on her like a fishing line being reeled in.

     “Are you alright?”

     Emma’s voice drags her from the powerful overflow, bringing her head above its drowning surface.

     Eyes snapping open, she meets the Savior’s stare, and can see the matching conflict flicker within her wild hazel gaze.

     “You feel it too, don’t you.”

     The young blonde swallows, throat flexing around choked impressions she can’t decipher.

     And nods.

_Is it a strange new kind of magic? Or something else?_

     Their hands are connecting without thought. Grounding one another. Holding tight as their eyes drift about the appearingly ordinary dive. Nothing _looks_ out of place. No notable trinkets or tokens from her Enchanted land or any other fairy-tale realm. The people talking and laughing seem to be of the average lot. No cursed familiar faces. No villains--known and unknown.

     They've had their fair share of encounters like that, of course, over the years.

     “Come on.” Squeezing Emma’s hand, she begins making pace to the bar, wandering stare observant along the way.

_Just in case._

     It’s been an exhausting journey. They are overdue for this release.

     She’s almost to the smooth wooden surface, having already caught the eye of a young man in a dress shirt and bow tie behind the counter, when the body trailing behind suddenly comes to a jerking halt.

_What the...?!_

     She turns, brow furrowing, about to ask what’s wrong, when she hears it.

     And her heart stops with a resounding _‘thump’_.

     Laughter.

 _Her_ laughter.

_By the Gods..._

     Head swinging past the Savior’s rapidly paling face, she follows her locked stare, and is rewarded with a sight ten years in the making.

     “Regina,” the blonde beside her whispers reverently.

 

     And then all hell is breaking loose.

 

*****

 

 _Everything is blue_  
_His pills, his hands, his jeans_  
_And now i’m covered in the colors pull apart at the seams_  
_And it's blue_  
_And it's blue_  
  
_Everything is grey_  
_His hair, his smoke, his dreams_  
_And now he's so devoid of color_  
_He don’t know what it means_  
_And he's blue_ _  
_ And he's blue  

_“Colors” - Halsey (stripped version)_

 

     One minute their laughing about him accidentally locking himself out of his Prius while on a run, and the next there is this ripple of air passing across them--moving them just enough to cause them pause. Turning, surprised and unsettled, Regina floats her amber orbs throughout the room.

     And feels the floor fall out from beneath her feet.

     Like a fireball coming to life in her soul, her body flushes with sweat and her heart explodes into an erratic rhythm as familiar hypnotic hazel eyes capture her.

     “Emma.” The name is a benediction past her lips before she can stop it. The woman--all hard edges and soft curves untouched by time--stares at her like saturated sunshine.

     Which has Henry spinning around, perplexed, gasping a, “Whoa,” a second later.

     Before unexpectedly hissing and grabbing uncomfortably at his chest.

   

      It’s then her world comes crashing down.

     

     “Henry?” She tears herself away from Emma Swan just as he stumbles, the tanned hue of his cheeks suddenly fading right before her.

_Oh no!_

     It’s as if someone is stripping the life force straight out of him by every color in his pours. Short chocolate locks begin to go lackluster as he sways, familial hazel eyes gloss over. His maroon shirt starts dimming to a muddled blood red--crisp blue jeans growing dingy like unwashed grey.

     “Henry!”

     She’s reaching for him, catching his slacking body against her own, maneuvering him into a nearby seat before he can completely collapse to the bar floor. People nearby move as if to assist, but she waves them off. Gesturing instead, to one of her waitresses for a glass of water.

     “I-it will pass,” Henry rasps, trying to dismiss her distress even as his hand falls limply against his chest. “J-just a heart murmur.”

     “What? What murmur?”

     He’s never had one. It was one of the first things she had him tested for as an infant.

     “I-I just need to cool down. Too warm,” he explains, taking the procured drink she’s handing him with trembling fingers. “I’ve had it since I was a kid.” He pats her other hand resting against his shoulder assuringly, giving her a wry grin. “Promise, Roni, I’ll be fine in a minute. I just got carried away.”

     But there’s a presence pushing towards them, and his brow is pinching as if his pain is increasing--the remaining tones of his body receding even further into disturbing shades of black and white.

     That’s when it hits her, hard, like a yellow bug ramming into her blind spot.

_The curse! It’s protecting itself!_

_Oh Henry!_

     Breath hitching, she’s whirling around on unsteady legs and pushing towards the ghost of her past with fizzing emotions.

_She can’t be here! We can’t meet like this! It was a mistake to hope. To wish. A big mistake!_

     There is just mere feet between her and Henry’s blonde mother when a shockingly familiar hand reaches out of nowhere to grasp the distraught Savior by her jacket, bringing her intended advancement to a stop.

     It’s a slap to the face.

     And the chaos of emotions building like a fury within her bubbling core lets loose with a protective guttural growl.

     “Get out! Now!”

 

     “No.” Emma protests in a strangled pant, her nerves on edge--muscled body screaming to continue in action.

     “Savior, please.” She pulls her back.

     Not for _Regina._

     Not for the blonde’s own self preservation.

     But for the boy they all love.

     For _Henry_ , who is visibly suffering--undoubtedly--to their arrival.

     “Get out,” her inimical self repeats. Matching features a torrent of want, pain, anger, and sorrow.

     She acquiesces.

     And tugs on Emma again.

     It earns her a rough shaking off, a glare, and a stiff jarring shoulder as the blonde quickly exits the way they had come--back out into the city nightlife. She holds her doppelganger’s stare for a moment. Observing. Acknowledging their mutual presence.

     Until the brunette with the shorter cut and fiery temper gives her the most subtle of head tilts, and grunts, “Give me a moment.”

     They both glance at their still frail looking child.

     She agrees with a slight incline of her own, then turns to seek out her wayward other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooof.
> 
> Finding the right songs for this encounter was tough. I've got a long list of emotions that had to play out and be captured. I think, however, the two I listed do so stunningly well.
> 
> Damn this curse! All that traveling. All those years. All the loss and heartache and frustration. All that hope....only to watch it fade in the face of Henry's suffering. How the hell are they going to fix this if Emma and Queenie's presence cause such a damaging reaction? How is Regina going to embrace their arrival when it obviously is taxing?
> 
> You would think they thought about all of this. And I believe someone did. Which is why the curse is behaving as it is.
> 
> :(


	5. Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from vacation! It was...eh....it was an amusement park that kept my nephews entertained. I was happy for some sunshine :).
> 
> Now, on to the story!

_My heart is weak_

_Tear it down piece by piece_

_Leave me to think_

_Deep in my structure, I think I still love her,_

 

_“Demons” - Jacob Lee_

  


**_Hyperion Heights_ **

 

     It’s a hazy blur how she got to this point.

     Standing in a dimly lit alleyway as a nightly rain slowly begins to fall.

     Watching the Savior--Henry’s _mother_ \--come undone.

     She remembers Emma and...the Queen, departing. Having chased them off, no matter how much she agonizingly yearned for their familiar presence. Then turning to their son, mild relief washing over her as color returned to him, before ushering him off into a waiting taxi. In spite of his numerous vocal protests, she had made sure he was sent off to the nearest medical center to be checked over. Unwillingly, even as his _friend_ , to settle for anything less than a clean bill of health from a licensed practitioner.

     Just in case it _wasn’t_ the curse attacking him.

     But after that?

     She has no clue the time which passed between getting the bar back on track, the storm moving in, and her finally seeking the unexpected women out.

 _Was it the banging?_ Fists striking a heavy duty dumpster repeatedly. Filling the bricked off passage with haunting echoes of rage. _Or the arguing?_ Because she doesn’t ever recall having a fight with Emma so eerily quiet that you would swear she and her alter-ego were conspiring if you couldn’t detect the venom behind each harsh word.

_Whatever it was..._

     Whatever she had anticipated.

     It wasn’t... _.this._

 

     “You need to calm the hell down,” snarls her doppelgänger, standing--threateningly so--in the blonde’s way. Preventing her from punching the rusted bucket once more. Dark eyes lined by equally shaded makeup gleam with malice.

     And something else.

     Something...that has her heart thumping in her ears with an erratic beat.

     “DON’T tell me what to do,” Emma growls right back. A shaky finger coming up in warning. Her hazel eyes burning like a forest fire.

     It’s equally soothing and yet disturbing how nothing has changed. _Just like Rumpel._ Not the lines on their faces, the clothes that they wear--not even the way they clash with one another. Opposing forces of nature--that either build each other up, or tear one another down.

     She shakes her head, feeling disjointed. Jarred by the visual before her. It’s her and Emma. Yet, NOT, her and Henry’s mother.

_Almost like dissociative identity disorder_

_Except I deliberately caused my splitting._

     When she had last seen the Evil Queen, it had been an emotional departure--the other woman leaving with wish realm Robin Hood, seeking the happy ending they supposedly deserved. That was two years before Henry left home. Four years before she joined him in his quest for 'Ella.

_Sixteen years since we last spoke to one another. How then, is she here now?_

     She parts her lips. Determined to say something. Anything. A spouting spring of need bubbling inside her gut, up her throat, ready to spread itself across her tongue. To spill out among the droplets splattering and trailing down their clothes and skin in search of answers. But her teeth unwillingly hold firm. Just like her feet. Grinding themselves with aching resistance.

     Leaving her a stifled, hapless, bystander.

 

*****

 

     The Queen glares at the digit jabbing her way.

     Eyeing it as she would a sword.

     “Savior,” she rumbles in warning. Hackles rising. Her own barely suppressed volatile temper flaring at the younger woman’s.   

     But Emma’s eyes dilate. The pupils blowing themselves out enough to remind her of the oppressive magic coursing through white hot veins. Her upper lip curls, just enough, and she knows. Regrettably. Painfully so.

     Her fair White Knight has lost total control.

     And needs to be subdued.

_Dammit!_

     She doesn’t even register Regina’s presence as her and Emma literally lunge for each other’s throats in the following seconds. Her right hand thankfully wrapping firmly around the blonde’s first, while her left clamps a death grip on the woman’s own exerting appendage.

_Restrain and drain._

_Just like before._

     Using the moment of her advantage, she forces the younger woman backward until the leather jacket she adores so much is bunched up--pressed firmly to a brick facade. The sound of it scraping against the rough surface while the princess flails in her grip grates against her frayed nerve endings.

_Keep it together. She doesn’t mean it. It’s not HER!_

     Their magic--like always--erupts. But not into bright flames like she’s use to. Instead of them becoming a burning effigy, their tethered connection bursts into a plume. Wisps of grey, gold, violet and white, stream from their bodies. As if she were gunpowder. And Emma a spark.

_‘These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume.’_

_Oh, my sweet Savior,_ she sighs, closing her eyes, trying to focus her magia. This struggle is real. One they’ve endured repeatedly over the years. It’s been some time since they’ve reached this point. Since they have found themselves on the brink of self destruction. She’s disappointed to be back here now, after everything. But she understands. She _gets_ why Emma is splintering.

     So she starts to syphon off the excess emotionally driven magic tearing the blonde apart. Holding her with as much physical strength as she possess. Locking her in as an unwilling participant.

     Until she can end this the same way it always comes to.

_Hold on, my dearest. Hold on for me._

 

*****

 

     Regina’s breath is coming in shallow gasps.

     She can’t just _see_ it.

     She can _feel_ it.

     Like heat emanating off of a fire, the smoky streams of thaumaturgy wrapping around the two women curl and slither--tentacles of power pushing, testing the resisting boundaries of the curse out--before shifting towards her. Beckoning. Dragging her closer with much desired warmth.

_It shouldn’t...I-it’s not possible..._

     And yet, illogically, it is.

     Her tormented gaze swings from the Queen, to Emma, and back again. Trying to understand. Trying to comprehend what exactly she’s witnessing. A third hand, one distantly familiar, suddenly comes into her line of sight as she unconsciously approaches the battling pair with weighted feet. The appendage stretching out. Seeking. Needing to make contact. She doesn’t even realize it’s her own.

     Except when she feels wet black leather beneath her trembling fingertips.

 

     And then her world unnaturally zeroes out.

 

     Similar to a marble breaking loose, a memory--one that doesn’t belong to her, but showcases herself nonetheless--rolls across her mind’s eye with a thunderous clap. Smacking along the sides of her skull, exploding, tearing her away from the alley behind her bar in Hyperion Heights to deposit her in a subterranean cavern. The walls of it jagged. Smeared with crimson stains. Hand impressions, and finger like scratches, have gouged the surface--pummeling, breaking it into fine piles of dust scattered across its damp surface floor. Emma, disturbingly, sits on her knees in the middle of it all. Head hanging low. Her bare arms as marked up in shades of red and black as the stone surrounding them.

     She’s gently extending for her. Pulse racing. A fingertip settling under a battered chin, softly tilting it back. Sharp teeth abruptly sink into her bottom lip as she meets dulled sea green eyes. No fire burning within them. No hunger. No will for life. Just hollow, soul crushing, misery.

     Her stomach sinks at the at the emptiness.

     Glancing down at the shadows beneath the curve of the younger woman’s body, she freezes with horror as she realizes the bunched mass she’s looking at are not tattered clothes. But what’s left of the blonde’s hands. Dimpled shades of grey and tan standing out like jagged shards of pottery. Except they are not. No. They are chunks of _flesh and bone_.

 _‘Oh Savior,’_ she hears herself mourn, her own hands going to either side of Emma’s face. Her chin lowering, eyes watering, as her lips press achingly tender against a grimy forehead.

 

     She sucks in a ragged breath.

     The memory disappearing with a _‘popping’_ sensation.

     Bringing her back to here and now.

_Oh Gods!_

     Shaking her head, eyes darting from the Queen to Emma, she catches the other woman’s own orbs rolling out of sight just as she slumps in their connected embrace.

     “Emma,” she rasps in shock. “Emma?!”

     They’re both grabbing her before she can fall completely to the wet pavement. Their fingers gripping firmly, holding her tight in equal protection while her knees buckle.

     “What the hell was that,” she husks, completely off kilter, adjusting her handle on Henry’s passed out mother. “And what did you do to her?!”

     “A pocket memory,” her alter ego replies, moving to wrap one of Emma’s arms over her shoulder for better support. “And I syphoned off some of her dark magic. You know the kind.” Their matching stares connect for the second time that night. “The one that consumes from the inside out if not redirected properly.”

     Her mouth goes dry at the reminder.

     “Why share _that_ with me then?” Her gaze instantly snaps to the blonde’s hands, bracing herself for what she might find. She’s dumbstruck, however--and puzzled--by the way the Savior’s digits glitter with wrapping strands of gold.

     “Because I’m tired of carrying the burden alone.”

     Taking the other position opposite the Queen, she pulls Emma’s right hand closer, and gawks at the fine tattoo like bands stitched into the woman’s skin. “What the hell?”

_How in all the realms...?_

     “She tore them to shreds,” her twin reveals, motioning with question to a nearby door.

     She listens with rapt attention while giving a confirming nod.

     “She ran off after a fortnight of trying to drink herself into a coma. Took me a week,” the Queen sighs, “before I was able to find her.” The longer haired brunette shakes her head, tears glistening her amber eyes as they drag Emma towards the back entrance of her apartment. “She destroyed that cavern unleashing everything that had been haunting her up until that point.” Their heartbroken gazes meet yet again. “I had to bind her hands with golden spider silk.” A shaky breath passes between them. “It was the only way to save and protect them.”

     Regina swallows the bile rising up in her throat. The vivid memory searing her innards like a red hot poker. “Y-you practiced kintsukuroi on her?”

     It was one thing to do it with pottery. To mold broken pieces back together with powdered gold. But with a person? A magic wielder like Emma no less?

_Not even the elders of old would dare such a thing alone..._

     “Mulan showed me how.”

     Her entire body shudders at the imagery.

     “The cavern is closed now” the Queen unnecessarily adds while she reaches for the door’s handle, causing her pause. “I had to seal it off.” A troubled lip quakes a little. “The walls are still stained with her blood, and the magic she poured into the stone shrieks with the wails of her grief.” A mirroring timber deepens. “The villagers think it cursed by the spirit of a tormented beast.” Two hearts stutter as they adjusts their grip. “I saw no reason to correct them.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh!
> 
> I just.....*cringes*. Well, I guess we can't pretend it has been easy going for Emma and the EQ in the last ten years like we've kind of perceived up until now. Gods, I can't even imagine the depths of grief Emma was in to do that to herself :(. Or the shared pain the EQ had--not just in witnessing such a brutal self inflicting act--but in being unable to stop it in the first place. If my timeline (in my story so far) adds up correctly, this would have been two years into Emma searching for her family alone. And...what,...three weeks after arriving on EQ's doorstep? 
> 
> Where is WR Robin? Why did they spend two weeks binge drinking? How much bonding occurred before the first melt down? And if this has happened more than once....how do you connect with someone so strongly who lashes out as violently as Emma has? :(
> 
> And Regina :(. Damn. No, this isn't what she was expecting at all. Emma showing up? Yeah, she wanted that. Emma arriving unstable with her twin in tow? *Shakes head* Lots of unhappy faces in this note.
> 
> But what was it Snow White once said? Something about Happy Endings not always being what we think they will be?


	6. When The Rain Sets In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another update! This one's finally going to shed some light on a few things :) get the ball rolling on everyone talking, and share a little on how the hell we got to this point.
> 
> Enjoy! <3

_She still remembers a time that was uncomplicated,_

_but sure as the sun rise she's seen things that you'll never see,_   
_losses and heartaches amount to her strength,_   
_but oh how they all take their toll_   
  
_She's still here fighting,_ _  
_ better know there's life in her yet

 

_“Life In Her Yet” - Rag’ N’ Bone_

  


**_Hyperion Heights_ **

**_Roni’s Bar_ **

  


     “Lay her down here,” Regina says softly as her and the Queen finish hefting Emma through the door of her apartment to the sleeper sofa in the middle.

_Whew!_

_She’s heavy for such a petite thing! Muscle truly does weigh more than fat._

     Gently lowering the blonde to the worn cushions, she moves to take the Savior’s boots off as they swing her legs up, but she’s blocked by her other half who already has her hands on the zipper of the thigh high leather. Matching eyes meet for a second--awkwardly interrupting their mutual intent--before she sucks in a tiring breath and steps back. Uncomfortably allowing the other woman to complete the task her fingers are rubbing against one another in desire to finish.

     “Drink?” She turns without waiting for a reply, knowing her Majesty will not decline.

_Not after the last hour._

     Hearing a _‘ding’_ from her phone as she crosses to enter the kitchenette, she pauses mid step, and pulls the device from a damp jean pocket. Her heart skips a beat when she sees it’s a message from Henry--an image of him giving her a thumbs up and the text _“All good, doc says, swear”_ staring up from an illuminated screen.

     A weight lifts slightly from her shoulders, and she hangs her head in relief.

_Thank the Gods!_

     Typing a quick message back that he better travel home safely and get a good night’s rest, she finishes her task of reaching the cupboard containing her personal collection of alcohol. Pulling down two shot glasses, she fills them each with the Irish Whiskey she had started her day off with, and returns to the living room--handing one to her doppelgänger who blindly accepts while running a fine finger delicately across Emma’s pinched brow.

     “H-How is she?” Amber eyes flicker from the rather intimate gesture to each woman’s features. Rattled by such...emotion, vibrating between them.

     Even with her once friend currently unconscious, it’s obvious the last ten years appears to have...shifted, their always charged connection.

_Is...was it...me? The merging of our hearts between myself and her Majesty?_

_Or is this affinity of their own making?_

     Neither possibility is unreasonable. At least, it wouldn’t have been once upon a time. But much has changed since _those_ days, even before realm jumping and curses.

_Sigh. So much has happened. Too much..._

     “She’s as fine as she can be,” the Queen hums in response, finally forcing herself away to take in Regina’s residence with a critical eye--sipping at the whiskey thoughtfully.

     She shakes her head.

     Not even really sure what question to begin with except the obvious.

     “How are you here?” She takes half a swallow of her own shot, needing the burn to settle her nerves. She’s gripping the glass tight enough it’s creaking in protest.

     Her Majesty tilts her head, opening her mouth with intent to respond as her gaze wanders around the loft, before she catches sight of the time on a nearby clock. It consumes her attention instantly. Stiffening, the royal whips her head about, looking anxiously for something, before turning back to Emma.

     Confused, she watches as the brunette sets her drink down on the coffee table and digs her hands into the blonde’s coat pockets--the leather jacket hanging over the armrest her head is pillowed against. A second later, the older woman is standing back up with the Sheriff’s cell phone clutched in her grasp.

     “I have to make a call.” Their eyes connect. “Privately.” Her own left appendage shifts to rests against her abdomen, her stomach exploding with nervous butterflies.

     “I..” She hesitates, the words she wants to say catching in her throat. “Use my bedroom,” she husks instead--a cutting decision made--motioning off to the room down the hall past her kitchen.

     Her other half doesn’t even look back.

     Overwhelmed, tears prickling at her eyes and trickling down her face, she gasps, pivoting away to face out a window. _Gods!_ She wants to follow her, to demand to know who she’s calling. But she’s _afraid_ \--fear gripping her legs and keeping her rooted in place with a twisted gut beside Emma. Because if it’s _them_ \--their family--the one she’s been yearning for since she woke up...why did her Majesty ask for privacy?

     And if it’s not them...does she really want to know _who_ it could be?

     Glancing down at the resting savior, she curls her fingers more tightly around her glass, and finishes her drink in another hard swallow.

 

*****

 

     As soon as the door closes behind her with a soft _‘snick’_ , she’s pressing the button that will connect her with a face she misses more than she can properly voice.

     Heart thumping hard in her chest, she raises a hand nervously to it, urging it to settle less it gives away the strain of the past hour to one who can read her just as easily as her mother. Two more buzzing beats pass before the call is answered.

     And then there is Alyssia.

     All sleepy-eyed, but just as beautiful as Henry had been at her age.

     “Queenie?” The murmured enquiring has her smiling reflexively.

     Attempting to relax, she takes a seat on Regina’s small bed, and nods. “Hello darling, yes, it’s me.”

     “Mom ok?” Blinking hazel orbs squint as a small magical light in the visibly dark room adjusts itself so they can see better.

_She’s getting better at that. Neal can barely start a fire._

     “As fine as always.” The reply is weighted, and Emma’s daughter picks up on it instantly.

     Like she knew she would.

     “Did something happen?” Alyssia glances at the time on her phone, still snuggled up in her bed at the loft. “I expected you to check in hours ago.” She gives a one shoulder shrug. “But I figured maybe you were still on the road or....forgot.”

     “I would never let your mother forget to check in, you know that,” she chides instantly, reminding the girl with firm care. Sitting back, taking in a deep breath, she shares what she can. “Emma’s fine. I promise. We...,” she wets her lips, lifting in her chin in preparation, “we found them, little one. We finally found them.”

     Alyssia’s eyes blow open immediately in response, the screen shifting from side to side as she moves into an up and alert position. “You found them?! Henry and Regina?!”

     “Yes,” she nods with a thin smile. “Just an hour or so ago, in fact.”

     Chestnut curls bounce as the girl’s jaw drops open in shock...then spreads into a wide smile of barely suppressed elation. Her heart hums in delight at the bright way her little love's face shines with excitement and affection. Much like her mother, the child is unabashedly expressive when comfortable with someone, and she cherishes the warmth that fills her in knowing she’s one of those special people both Swans are at ease with.

     But just like Henry, Alyssia is observant.

     Very capable of reading a situation and the emotions involved--even on an uncomfortable level. Unlike her older brother, however, she’s more reserved in her questioning. Assessing first--like Emma--before asking the most critical ones.

     “Something happened, didn’t it?” Joy fades to a pinched brow in mirror of her parent. “What was it? What’s wrong?”

     She sighs heavily. “A lot.” Wiggling a bit to get more comfortable in her semi-reclined state, she breaks down the last hour for her petite wonder--even the tantrum her mother threw after Regina had kicked them out of the bar. Lying, or omitting an event, is never an option between them. A lifetime with Henry had taught her that.

     “So it’s likely true then.” Alyssia’s boney shoulders slump, eyes falling hooded with discomfort and pain. “What the message said. She really did it.”

     Clearing her throat, she repeats the same thing she’s said to her each time the assumption has been addressed. “Whatever the reasoning, darling, it was probably for the best.”

     Unlike Emma, her girl understands.

     She gets why people sometimes do what appear to be the most horrific things most unimaginable. That not everything is as sacred as we assume it. That some situations are beyond our control and comprehension.

     The tiny brunette draws in a deep breath full of wisdom beyond her years, and queries, “So what’s next? ‘Cause I’m not telling gram and gramps anything, until you guys have a game plan.”

_What next indeed..._

 

*****

 

_I'll inject you_

_I'll inhale you_

_Right here where you stand_

_Right here where you stand_

_I confess you_

_Made a mess but_

_I won't reprimand_

_I won’t reprimand_

_I won’t reprimand_

 

_Cause I still swear you are_

_I still swear you are_

_I still swear you are_

_Good for me_

 

_“Lethal” - Cloudeater_

  


     “We need to talk.”

     Regina doesn’t move.

     Hasn’t, since she left her to have a conversation she wasn’t allowed to be apart of. Whiskey stoned eyes track the Queen as she makes her way back into the living room--pausing to check on Emma--before dropping casually into a chair near the blonde’s head.

     With a weary sigh, she mimics her counterpart, and takes up residence in a chair by the Savior’s feet. It isn’t lost on either of them how they are using her as both a divide and meeting ground. Like their son, she’s always been someone they’ve tentatively shared.

     “What do you want to know?” She licks chapped lips, briefly wondering where the stick of balm that had been in her pocket wandered off to. Ten years ago she never would have possessed such a thing. Her pout always pampered with lipstick or gloss--like her Majesty now.

_But that was then. When we were one, not two._

     “I want to cut right to the chase.” Amber orbs flicker over her matching face, studying, watching every expression.

     “So I assumed.” Fingers curling, her nails pressing sharply into her palms, she raises her chin, looking down her nose slightly at her older self. “Out with it then.” She’s in no mood for any kind of games right now.

     The Queen waits a beat.

     Then three.

     Before she asks what she expected the most.

     “Did you cast the curse? And did you use..,” she pulls in a sharp bracing breath, voice wavering just a hair, “Did you use Henry’s heart?”

     ...............

     The rain outside patters, tapping fingertips against her window panes.

     Their gazes lock.

     One searching.

     The other caving in exposed regret.

     “You know I did,” she rasps, tossing the travesty of her crimes into the air between them. Lightning flashes--illuminating the dim room briefly--and she turns her head just enough to follow it while keeping her Majesty in sight. “I took the curse...and our boy,” she pushes back against the bile rising up her throat, her words quivering in echo of reverberating thunder, “and I did what I had to do.”

     Her entire body is trembling at the revelation.

     Shaking with too many emotions and memories to be easily encased in such a fragile frame. Though it may be summer seasonally, her skin is clammy and cold. So damp, with loneliness and despair, that she wishes her battered soul would just finally cave and turn to stone.

_Oh Gods, why couldn’t I have found another way?_

_Why did I have to settle for this once more?_

_..............._

     The older brunette drops her stare to Emma. Her gaze lingering. Knowing. Focused on something beyond the physically seen.

     “How is he?” The wondering is soft, forlorn.

     She grabbles to gain control of herself, moving her attention from the storm back to her twin who lifts her gaze to hold her.

     “Fine.” The word is hoarse, but it gives the Queen ease. “He’ll be fine.”

_More so than us at the moment._

     “Ten years, Regina,” the other woman sighs, letting her head fall back in exhaustion, eyes moving to the shadows playing on the ceiling above. “Ten years, and _much,”_ she stresses with a deep rumple, “has changed.”

     She nods.  _Understatement of the century._

     “How are you here?” She repeats from earlier, wanting to know that much--at the very least--tonight.

     “Via the same way Emma rammed herself into our life the first time.” A heavy head shifts, honey orbs settling on fine sleeping features they can’t seem to resist. “By bug, of course.”

_Unbelievable..._

     “You drove here.”

     Dark tresses bob.

     “From...Maine?”

     “Yep.” Her Majesty pops the “p” the same way sleeping blonde use to.

     “And...,” she falters for a moment, terrified to know, but unable to resist, “and everyone is still...there? Still...ok?”

     “Mmmhhmm.”

     The casual confirmation is as relieving as it is infuriating.

_Ten years._

_Ten._

     “Then why the hell did it take you so long to find us?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(
> 
> Well, I mean, Regina basically revealed early on that she cast the curse, and that Henry was apart of that. She just never really expressed directly how so. Damn. Kind of opens a bigger can of worms like...HOW IS HE STILL ALIVE??? ;)
> 
> Alissa and Queenie are beyond fucking adorable. I heart them already. <3 I also almost posted the song that defines their relationship for me, but it made me tear-eyed and it gives WAY too much away plot wise. Alas, it will have to be saved for the right moment. *Sniffle*
> 
> Hopefully, once Emma wakes up, we can clear the air (and emotions) between everybody, and start working on a way to break this damn curse!


	7. Bare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something while I work on my next chapter of "Stable Boys, Heroes, Mothers and Villains" :).
> 
> I think you're going to like this one.
> 
> Enjoy!

_The hot breath in her ear tickles at her senses, pulling against the haze clouding her mind. There’s a warm body in her lap, tanned skin damp with sweat brushing against her lips. It’s moving with her--dragging her fingers through slick heat that smells of carnal need._

_She lifts her head slightly, eyes fluttering open, but sees only a curtain of dark tresses dancing in her vision. Turning, her nose brushes against a taunt neck. Her tongue--heavy with alcohol--reaches out to taste it._

_Cinnamon and mead._

_It’s not what she expected._

_It’s not what she wants._

_Feeling breasts grazing across her own in gyration, she lets her head slowly fall back--mildly surprised to feel a chaired cushion beneath her tilted frame--and looks up. The jaw line is all wrong. The nose a bit too sharp. The cheekbones higher than preferred._ _When smokey hooded orbs shift down to meet her penetrating gaze, she swallows back the reflexive need to look away._

_It’s not her._

_Of course it’s not._

_But it’s someone._

_And she’s been aching for far too long._

_So she redirects her instinctually teasing touch. Shifting her digits to slip into hot desire with a knowing destination. She arches forward, digging her other hand into soft hair, and demands the unscarred open mouth above to capture her own._ _She eats the scream of want that echoes out the other woman. Encouraging her to continue rocking, picking up the pace as she races towards an orgasm._ _Just as the stranger peaks with a nail biting grasp raking across her skin, hauntingly familiar magic ignites within her own core._

_Eyes popping open, she rips herself free and follows the tether with a swing of her head, clouded gaze locking on a whiskey stare that has been sitting--_

_Watching._

_From across the dimly light room the entire time she’s been here._

  


     The darkness weighing her down is slow to lift.

     The distant memory she’d been dreaming about fading away with rooted longing.

     Drawing air into her stuffy nose, Emma lets the rest of her body wake before she even contemplates prying her eyelids open. There’s a tickling at the back of her arms, something soft and padded beneath her. Her hips are sore and her feet are tingling, meaning her legs have been resting in a bad position. And then there’s an odd double... _thumping?_...thing going on in her chest. Kind of like an echoing heartbeat to her own. But it’s off. Out of sync by only a half second. Still....

_What is that?_

     Her arms are dead weights as she tries to move them to rub at the weird sensation.

_What the fuck did we do last--_

     “Sleep well, Savior?”

     Her eyes crack wide and she bolts with a gasp into an upright position. Head whipping so fast her neck painfully pops, she spots her Majesty lounging in an armchair half a foot away--her dress from the night before riding up to the line of almost indecent while her legs hang off the one end.

     “Where...?” The question comes out in a strangled croak as she squints into the daylight streaming in from nearby loft windows.

_When did we...?_

     “What’s the last thing you remember?” Ice cubes clink in the glass the Queen is drinking apparent juice from.

     Hanging her head to block out the gods awful brightness practically blinding her, she takes in a deep calming breath, and tries to shake off the fog making her thoughts muddy. They had been driving all day. Chasing strings in their chests into frustrating circles. They had fought, like usual, then settled on calling it a night.

     “The bar!” She sucks air in sharply, the out of tune rhythm in her chest exploding into a panicked pace. Hazel eyes snap from one foreign object to the next, processing, as flashes of ghostly faces pass by her mind’s eye. “Henry!” She’s on her unsteady feet instantly, pins and needles rippling up and out the numb limbs. “REGINA!”

     The shout brings a pounding of soul wrenching familiar footsteps from down a hallway.

_Oh my Gods, did we..._

_Are we...?_

     And then there she is.

     The mother of her son.

     The woman she’s been searching for all these years.

     “Emma.”

    Her name comes out like a choked plea and she’s torn between being frozen with her fury of emotions, or closing the distance between them until she can be sure that the brunette with the shorter hair is real.

 

     As for the said woman herself...

 

     Regina’s body is on fire with a foray of thoughts and feelings.

     Just like the first time she met the blonde shifting anxiously across her living room. Except...the black armor jacket is resting on her couch instead of on hunched shoulders. Thigh high boots are by the door with no intention of walking away. And Emma’s ever expressive face? Well, she can read it now unlike that night so long ago. The hope. The yearning.

     The emerging memory that narrows her eyes--strong fingers curling into her palms. That dimpled chin tightening. Those broad muscles squaring back.

_‘Get out! Now!’_

     She doesn’t regret it. Those words. The request.

     Henry comes first. Always.

     But it seems he’s still, despondently so, between them.

     Even after all this time.

     “I’m sorry.” It’s a hoarse whisper that carries the dividing distance. When the Savior doesn’t move, she takes a bold step forward. “I’m sorry about last night.” She raises her chin, even as tears prick her eyes. _Gods, I’m so tired of crying!_ “I’m sorry I had to ask you to leave.” Another step forward. She sniffles, trying to keep the droplets of sorrow from falling past her eyelashes. “I’m sorry you met us like...that.” She swallows, the blonde’s eyes flicking across her face with stressing anxiety. A third consuming step. “Emma, I-I’m sorry.”

     It’s that night outside of Granny’s all over again.

     Both times.

     Her doorstep. The station. The mine tunnel. The converging wilderness of Neverland. Her vault. The town line. Her office. That gut piercing night in the middle of main street. Camelot. Her couch. The underworld. That mirror realm. The bar.

     And the last time they saw one another.

     That woodland afternoon in a distant world where their adult son signaled for their assistance while chasing his own story. The place her and the one handed wonder last argued. The moment she accepted that their tangled lives were going to part.

     The day Emma walked into a portal back to Storybrooke.

_Without me._

     A keening sound breaks free from her throat and her shaking hand is raising to suppress it, covering her mouth tightly. But it breaks the wall between them. Like tidal waves crashing against the shoreline, they come together with a reverberating wave of magic--the elemental essence rippling out in concentric circles.

     Hardened digits dig into her shoulder blades, holding her painfully good against a firm curved body while a sob shudders past her quivering lips. She’s muttering a mantra of forgiveness. “I’m so sorry! I had no choice! Please! I’m so sorry!” Trembling with the sin she shared last night to her friend who was too far gone to hear it confessed.  

     But Emma’s words are cracking against her own. “It’s ok! I know! I’m sorry! I should have been there!” While their knees quake with thin resilience to remain standing.

     Thighs she use to admire press and rub her own. Hair, unsurprisingly silky soft, brush her face and neck. A hot breath tantalizes across the exposed skin of her clavicle, and she shivers at the sensory overload.

     They are entwined like they have never been before.

     Exposed.  

     Broken.

     Yielding.

     But apart of her has experienced this.

     Has tasted the sweetness of their mingling magic. Has found comfort and hope in a form carved by hard work and even harder play. Has opened herself up. Has had her heart punctured by affection.

     Has been reminded of who they _use to be_.

     So long ago.

 

     The Queen stands from her seat without pause, walking past the embracing mothers to the kitchen, without a second glance, where she refills her drink. There are trails of wetness leaving marks down her pristine cheeks. She pays them no heed. It’s happened all before. More than once. Too many times, if she’s being honest. And she’s sure, after this last curse is broken, it will become a consistent part of her life.

     But she’ll endure it.

     Take it on and wear it proudly with a badge of courage and honor.

     For she sees and feels what the enmeshed women cannot.

     The threads of red and white zipping around them like wild insects mating. The resonating _lub dubs_ that were once off...but are quickly aligning with starving need. The ushering call of their bodies to be even closer than they physically can reach. The love tying them together with disgusting familiarity.

     So yes, she’ll subject herself to all of this.

     Because their future depends on it.

 

*****

 

     Once the dam had been released, they managed to pull themselves apart and sit down for a timid breakfast with stomachs weaved into knots.

     “I...,” Regina glances at her Majesty fiddling with a fork as she plates an Eggs Benedict for her. “I got a little fill in last night, while you were out, about...things.” She drifts her gaze down to the task at hand, suddenly feeling shy under Emma’s scrutinizing stare. “Ordeals that you have...dealt with, since we last saw each other.”

     Her ire had quickly turned to stone cold humbleness as the Queen gave her a harsh run down of why exactly ten years have passed. Afterwards, she had crawled into a scalding bath, wanting to rid the revelations from her skin even as they burrowed deep into her bones.

_By the Gods, what travesties are lives have become._

     Settling into her own seat at the breakfast nook, she forces her whiskey orbs up from her meal, and meets sea foam green following her every move. “I’m sorry Emma. For...everything.”

     The younger woman scowls, dropping her gaze to her plate with rare minimal appetite. “I’m already tired of hearing that.” Though harsh, the words are delivered gently. “Can we just rip the bandaid of time off and get down to the bare facts of the last decade?”

     “Please,” her doppelgänger concurs with a pained muttering, not at all resistant to filling her belly like they are.

     Sighing, she bunches her shoulders and leans over her food in the most unregal position she’s sure either of them have ever seen her take. “Fine.” Tearing her eggs apart with a too damn dull knife, she darts her eyes between her companions. “The bullet points? I cast the dark curse, _again,_ ” she spears a bite with a sharp jab of her fork, “and used _our_ son’s heart to cast it because a child with mommy issues,” she sneers at the reminder, shoving the morsel of food into her mouth, “poisoned him, and it was the only way to keep Henry from dying.”

     ....................

     The clenching of her jaw as she chews is the only sound to be heard over the erratic tempo of her pounding pulse.

     “That bare enough for ya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! A hug!! :D Goodness, they both so needed that so much! And Queenie! Gods, the notion of her silently crying, witnessing what Emma and Regina cannot see is just...oh my heart!
> 
> Sigh.
> 
> Beautiful. And now we can step forward. Get the ball rolling on how to deal with Drizella, once Emma and Queenie know exactly who Regina is dealing with. 
> 
> And Emma's dream? Well...that'll have to be explained at some point ;).
> 
> Oh! And no music for this moment. I listened to tons on my playlist, but too many could easily fit so I chose silence instead. Kind of like that episode from Buffy The Vampire Slayer where her mother dies. Except, not with the tragic ending. Sometimes, there are no words--nor song--that can capture the heart of a moment more properly than the stillness of itself. <3


	8. Baring Facts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the GODS has it been forever?!
> 
> Or like...what...two weeks? Gah! My apologies. Freelance work took up my free time, but as I finish work up, I'm getting back on track with my stories. This isn't a super long chapter, but I hope the information shared helps clear up who/what we are dealing with, why, and hint a little at the whereabouts of others ;).
> 
> So enjoy!

_[Previously]_

_Sighing, she bunches her shoulders and leans over her food in the most unregal position she’s sure either of them have ever seen her take. “Fine.” Tearing her eggs apart with a too damn dull knife, she darts her eyes between her companions. “The bullet points? I cast the dark curse, again, ” she spears a bite with a sharp jab of her fork, “and used our son’s heart to cast it because a child with mommy issues,” she sneers at the reminder, shoving the morsel of food into her mouth, “poisoned him, and it was the only way to keep Henry from dying.”_

_...................._

_The clenching of her jaw as she chews is the only sound to be heard over the erratic tempo of her pounding pulse._

_“That bare enough for ya?”_

 

**_*****_ **

 

**_Roni’s Place_ **

 

     She can hear Emma breath in through her nose, a behavior that use to often warn her when the blonde’s about to go off...or is holding her temper in check from doing so. It’s usually backed by a flexing of her muscles, a hardening of her stare--turning those forest orbs into cutting, judging, razors. At that point, she would either push back, or reach out to the other woman--eliciting some kind of response so the Savior won’t explode from the tension.

     Her hand moves across the table to do just that.

     Going for Emma’s own fingers curled around a glass of milk. She hesitates, however, when she catches subtle movement to her left, and her eyes dart to the Queen’s own grasp, resting affectionately on a forearm without even a spared glance.

     A disapproving growl instantly springs up her throat.

     She tries to cover it up with a clearing sound, lest either woman catches on. Tingles grip at her spine like magic clawing their way up into her chest, pricking her heart with a distant--but recognizable--emotion.

     Desperate to ignore it, she gestures towards the duo, dropping her attention to her food. “Your turn. Tell me what I need to know.”

     An angry hammering is threatening to burst her eardrums, forcing her to actively focus over it.

_It’s the same old issue you’ve always had. At some point you’re just going to have to get past this._

     As Emma opens her mouth to speak, she can’t help but spare her doppelgänger a furtive glance--receiving a knowing one in turn.

     Jealousy, it seems, is something they still unapologetically share.

 

*****

 

     “Those are some bullet points, Gina,” Emma grits between clenched teeth--her body contracting with restraint under the Queen’s settled touch.

     Regina softens a bit with the old nickname, though sorrow still tugs at her whiskey orbs.

 _Someone._ .. _Some selfish brat, got close enough to Henry to_ _poison_ him? _Leaving his mother with no choice but to save him the only way she could_?

_.....How dare they!_

_Who the FUCK do they think they’re messing with?!_

_Do they not KNOW who Henry Daniel Mills is?_

_Can they not conceive the war they have just started?_

_If they think one half of the Evil Queen is trouble enough to erase her memories with a curse, they have_ _no clue how horrific a prior Dark One with a battered grey heart can be._

_NO ONE touches Henry._

_NO ONE!_

     Taking a deep breath, feeling a thumb brushing steadily against her raging pulse point, Emma closes her eyes for a second to collect herself--knowing that she can’t afford another outburst that she faintly recalls having last night. The dark magic that lives inside of her is only balanced by the will of her natural light magic, but it’s a constant flux of power. Much like the rolling current of an ocean. Some days she’s as calm as a glassy surface.

     Others, she’s a typhoon destroying everything in her path simply because she can.

     Pulling in another rising and falling breath, she mentally readies herself to share with Regina her own unpleasant past. She doesn’t know what her Majesty has told her other self while she was resting, but she suspects it wasn’t nearly enough to even scrape the surface of the last decade.

     “I got word of the curse either just before, or after, it was cast.” Shakily, she raises her glass of milk to take a necessary drink. Those distant amber eyes follow her every move, and she meets their studying gaze as she sets her cup back down. “I was passing through a portal just minutes later, but it didn’t deposit me to your last whereabouts.” Her eyes flicker briefly to the older woman on her right. “At least, not from what I could tell.”

     Regina’s brow furrows in thought, her mouth going thin with the repressed desire to speak up, but nods--encouraging her onward.

     “I spent two years jumping from realm to realm every chance I got. Hearing nothing but tales and legends about a great sweeping curse, but never finding any physical clue of either of you. Not until I finally asked for help.” She shares a tight smile with the Queen. “Even then, it’s been the hardest journey of my life getting here to you.”

     There’s a slight pause between them--broken looks spread across their features.

     Before Gina cuts in.

     “That’s because it was designed to make it appear as if we never existed.” Toying with her meal, her gaze bounces around the table. “I was concerned it would reach out and effect you in some way.” She shakes her head in frustration. “When Drizella woke me, I tried calling you, but I couldn’t recall your number, nor find any trace of you.” Reaching unsteadily into her back pocket, Regina pulls out an old photo--setting it down. “If not for this, I think I would have gone mad from uncertainty.”

     Her heart clenches at the sight of the picture--a carbon copy of the one she’s been carrying around ever since that fateful day.

_What are the odds?_

     Her’s had been pulled from under a magnet on her fridge. This one obviously came from a desk frame.

     “How long exactly have you been awake,” her Majesty asks, drawing gazes up from the better kept version of their shared memory.

     “Two days,” the former mayor sighs, shoulders hunching. “She spiked a drink, then informed me why she freed me of the curse.” Bitterness coats the brunette’s next words. “And what’s at risk if I attempt to break it.”

_Two days._

     Her attention flickers to Queenie, sharing a knowing look. They had been passing through Oregon, following faint murmurings of magic, when a pulse of... _something_ , had turned them north instead of south.

     The timing couldn’t have been a coincident.

     No way, no how.

     “Who the fuck is this Drizella chick?”

_What a shitty name to live with._

     “One of the unfortunately not so ugly step sisters of Cinderella.” Gina rolls her eyes, nose wrinkling at memories running behind her swirling irises. “Her mother, Lady Tremaine--” her Majesty unexpectedly snorts in interruption, then rolls her own eyes, “was pursuing Henry for his heart.” Regina wets her lips with a quick graze of her tongue. “Her other daughter, Anastasia, died tragically in an accident.” She plays with the decorative markings on her coffee cup, a troubled look marring her face. “Tremaine was hoping to take Henry’s heart and use it to save her.”

     “But Drizella intervene instead, I assume?” Queenie raises a sharp brow, sitting back to eye her other half intently.

     The bar owner nods. “She’s a naturally born caster, and she used her magic to poison Henry so his heart wasn’t a viable option.”

     “Gods,” Emma groans, bringing the palms of her hands up to rub wearily at her eyes--trying to massage the pulsing of information running wild through her brain into a calming order. “The kid can’t catch a break, can he.”

     The twins shake their head with her, sighing wearily at the life their son has lead.

_What kind of mother have I been to let Henry go on his own?_

     A moment or two of silence passes before Regina clears her throat once more, pulling focus back to her, and asking, “So it’s just been the two of you looking ever since? No one else has...assisted you?”

     Their eyes hold for a beat, before her shoulders curl slightly inward, and she replies with a pinched look, “I couldn’t take Alyssia with me, and though we’ve had help from some friends in the past...yeah, it’s been mostly just us.”

     Gina pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, a question no doubt begging to squeeze past them.

     She can already guess, however, what her friend wants to know.

 _WHO_ she’s secretly trying not to ask about.

     Not capable, nor comfortable, going down that old road right now, she gives an answer that will cover the enquiry for the moment. Lifting her glass again for a subtle sip, she makes sure Regina can see that her ring finger--on both hands--is bare.

     No tan line, no scars, no marks whatsoever of the wedding band that use to sit there.

     Nothing.

     Except the weaved threads of magic her Majesty had used all those years ago to slowly stitch her back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no music for this one. I like the idea of you being able to picture the sounds of people moving, breathing, glasses clinking and the stillness of the apartment around them. I feel that shares in the atmosphere of this very "baring" moment between these three women.
> 
> It's not much, but at least we know Emma is no longer wearing a wedding band. (woo!)
> 
> Who the fuck dared to go after Henry, and why.
> 
> And the exposed loneliness these three women have experienced. Regina all alone under a curse, but thankfully oblivious until the past two days. Emma and the Queen, though assisted, basically taking on the world to find their family and, unfortunately, enduring the last ten years. They know each passing hour, each passing minute. They've lived it.
> 
> And that's just fucking shitty on all kinds of levels.


	9. Crushing Truths Are My Next Step Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miss me? Probably not. But this story? I hope so. A new chapter with another reveal and yet, unsurprisingly, more questions!
> 
> You like it, I know you do. Enjoy ;).

_I’m learning to live,_ _I’m trying to be better_

 _I’m learning to give,_ _But I don’t know if I’m a giver_

_I don’t know if I’m a giver_

_I don’t know if I’m a giver_

_I got so much soul in my body,_ _But no one keeping me honest_

_And whole days turn into holes in my mind_

_I got high hopes, lots of potential_

_I’m high, broke, searching for symbols_

_And I will not let go of what is mine_

_I got so much soul in my body,_ _But no one keeping me honest_

_And whole days turn into holes in my mind_

_I got high hopes, lots of potential_

_I’m high, broke, searching for symbols_

_And I will not let go of what is mine_

 

_“Giver” - K. Flay (Seattle Sessions version)_

  


**_The Evil Queen’s Castle_ **

**_-8 years ago_ **

 

     Boom! Boom! Boom!

 _What in the...? Who the hell would dare to blast my doors with magic?_ Struggling to get to her feet, the Evil Queen strides slowly to her balcony with a low groan, her tired body reminding her that it is well past the bewitching hour. Throwing open the silk covered glass partitions with a startling bang, she squints through misty darkness down to the front entrance of her castle partially illuminated by torch lights to see a shrouded figure leaning heavily on the gates--slamming their hand harshly against the rattling surface with waning magia.

     “Stop that,” she growls, voice echoing across the distance between them.

    Then she blinks.

     As it dawns on her that her guards have taken no action to remove this individual, or intervene their rudeness in anyway. No, instead they stand back, lifeless like a bunch of statues waiting for orders.

     “What in the hell--” she begins to bellow, ire rising hot and fast.

    But her words instantly cut short when the intruder lifts the hood of their cloak to glare up at her, and she immediately understands why her men remain passive.

     “Savior,” she questions, her unexpected presence drawing a deep quizzical frown. A hiccup escapes her as she sways a little dangerously over the railing to get a better look at the blonde locks and sharp features parting the shadows of night.

     She has, perhaps, indulged a bit much tonight in her private collection of apple cider. As one tends to do from time to time.

_Ah well...._

     Green eyes, pierced with weariness and pain, meet her gaze.

     And she suddenly knows.

_Something’s wrong._

     “Please, help me,” the younger woman begs in a strangled rasp.

     Before the princess can collapse completely onto the cobblestone, she’s swinging the door to her abode open with a fluttering hand, all while transporting herself down to the main hall just in time to catch the poor waif in her arms.

     “What’s happened,” she asks in bewilderment, her gentle grip shaking with effort to keep Snow White’s child from lying fully upon the floor. “Emma? Why are you here?”

     “Gone,” the blonde chokes out, eyes fluttering with the failing will to stay open. “They’re gone.”

_........Gone?_

     Brow furrowing, drawing the muscular woman more tightly into her bodice, she grasps the Savior’s chin to hold her gaze once more. “Who? Who’s gone?”

    “R’gina,” the broken looking girl slurs, eyes drifting towards a permanent close. “Gina..a...and...Henry.”

     An icy set of fingers abruptly strangle her stitched up heart.

_No. That can’t be. I just saw them..._

     Glare narrowing, she whisks her fragile cargo back to her room--moving swiftly to lay the precious sheriff down upon her disheveled bed. Eyes roaming, cataloging with a thundering in her head--both from the instant sobering words, troubling circumstance, and alcohol--she notes how thin her former adversary has gotten.

     The dullness of her hair.

     The scars and bruises littering what skin she can see through the threadbare cloak and forest dwelling leathers.

      _Where is her preferred style?_

    _Her hideous form fitting jackets and matching tight jeans? Where is the fire to fight within her that is only ever muted by her dullard of a pirate husband? Where are her parents? Her people? Her badge? Her sword and key?_

     “Why are you so alone,” she murmurs, the not so hardened organ in her chest constricting with fear and uncertainty. “And why are you here, Emma? Why come.....to _me_?”

 

*****

 

_**Roni's Place** _

_**Present Day Seattle** _

 

     Once Henry’s mother was more awake and realized she missed out on check in with Alyssia, she excused herself from the Queen and Regina’s presence to connect with the daughter only one of them has spent time with in the last ten years.

     The child that is undoubtedly a beautiful blend of the Handless Wonder and her mother. A girl Regina hasn’t seen for more than a moment before her son and continuing adventure took her worlds away. Emma’s mini-me, as the Queen told her the night before.

     The silence between her and her other self lasts a whole five minutes before she shoots a hard--questioning gaze--her Majesty’s way.

     “Where is he,” she demands, nostrils flaring and stomach turning at the implications of Hook’s absence.

_How could he leave Emma? And Alyssia? ....Or did she leave him?_

_Maybe something worse happened. Maybe he..._

     “Where he belongs,” her counterpoint replies, cutting through her chasing thoughts as she stands from the table to place her empty plate in the sink. “Trust me, it was long overdue.”

     Regina sucks in a sharp breath, heart squeezing in shock and loss for friend and her daughter....yet that’s all the further her sympathy can go. After all, it is no secret to anyone how much she despises Killian Jones. Well, her world’s version of him, anyway. The miscreant was far below Emma’s worth--which she wishes the blonde would have accepted during their trip to the underworld. Still, she would never want such a tragedy to befall Henry's mother yet again. Not after the loss of Mister Cassidy. Nor the death of Hook in that bumbling Villains vs. Heroes realm. The poor woman has had enough suffering in her lifetime.

     Not counting her own gut wrenching demise...which she refuses to think about for more than a split second as the memory slices white hot through her battered heart.

_When will enough be enough?_

     “Don’t.” The word yanks her from her emotional musings, and she lifts her gaze from her disappearing plate to connect with the Queen’s mirroring stare. “Trust me, it’s not the heartbreaking tale you think it to be.” The older brunette pauses with a tilt of her head. “Or at least, not one to worry ourselves over any longer.”

     Her tight brow furrows in curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

_Surely he didn’t...._

     “I mean,” her Majesty stresses with a knowing look, “that he did exactly what we’ve always wanted him to do.” She snorts derisively as she dumps the food they were unable to eat into the trash. “It’s only unfortunate that the bastard waited until _after_ he wormed his way into Emma’s heart--with a child no less--to suddenly up and decide he deserved his fate in hell after all.”

     Regina’s stomach sinks into her feet at the confirmation of her building suspicion.

     “He just left them?!”

_That bastard!!_

     The silent response and the Queen’s avoiding gaze as she toys with putting the remaining dishes in the sink, makes her narrow her hazel orbs in second thought.

     “Wait a minute.” Eyes darting to her yet again closed bedroom door, she gets up from her seat and approaches her other half. One hand landing on the counter between them and the other on her hip, she lowers her timber and asks, “Did he leave willingly?”

     Because she’s knows herself.

     Knows _them._

     Her Majesty sniffs, then lifts her chin to stare out the small window overlooking the back alleyway. “More or less.”

     She draws in a slow deeper breath, letting the words sink within her as her gaze flickers to the mahogany barrier a second time.

     Hook left.

 _Willingly_ left.

     “Explain, please.” Her tone is softer, imploring in a way she would normally use when talking to Emma, but since she is busy with her daughter, her doppelgänger is acting as her conduit.

     “There was a point yet again,” the Queen sighs, shoulders stiffening with recollection, “where he had the chance to prove the lie they had both been clinging to since the day Emma attempted to save his life with that damn dagger.”

     The tightness in her other half’s voice pierces her skin with dread, and a stifling horror she never wanted to see the reality of explodes in her chest.

_No._

_No!_

     “True love’s kiss...” The words strangle themselves out across her tongue to drip off her dry lips.

_He couldn’t...they were never..._

     Her Majesty bows her head, fingers gripping the edge of the sink so tight they start to turn white from the strain. “Failed,” she swallows thickly, eyes closing with sickening recall. “And when he realized it, Killian Jones decided to return to his brother’s side.” Her eyelashes flutter like an awakening butterfly to reveal sorrow and rage at war in her whiskey orbs. “Once and for all.”

     ........................

     Regina’s feet are like dead weights. She can’t move. She can’t breathe properly.

     There are so many questions now running rampant through her mind, all she can do is stare and ask the most prominent one in a harsh whisper. “How long ago was this?”

     “Seven years, five months and,” the Queen glances at the clock on the distant wall, “twenty two hours ago.”

     ..........

 _Fuck._....

     She shakes her head.

     So much time missed. So many moments gone between them. Too many situations where she wasn’t there. Where Emma was obviously hurt, scared, and alone.

  _Well_ , she lifts her gaze to study the profile of her double, _apparently not entirely alone._

     She was about to ask exactly how Emma made it out of whatever brought Hook to her side for true love’s kiss, to only come up short, as the door to her bedroom suddenly opens--the presence of said woman shelving the conversation for another time.

     “So what now,” asks the approaching, oblivious, blonde. “Cause I need to get the bug before she ends up impounded and collect our things without stirring shit up just yet.”

_................._

_What now indeed?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So........yeah. Bye bye Guy Liner.
> 
> As much as I want to think Hook wouldn't just up and give up. His past behavior, when he accepts his failures, has always lead to him walking away. He's just not cut for lasting things out unless it's built upon rage and murder. I mean, fuck sake's, he even stabbed his own self in season 7 under the "assumption" of being left for dead. Dude got fucking knocked out in a public place by wish realm Hook. If him stabbing himself in retaliation isn't a sign of psychological damage and self hate, I don't know what is.
> 
> That being said...Alyssia does deserve better. But no worries. Both her and Emma had someone in their corner who hasn't, and never intends, to leave :).
> 
> To be clear on my timeline of things, this takes place a year after Emma asks Quennie for help. That makes Alyssia 5 at the time. Very aware of who is missing, why her mother is jumping realms, why she's staying with her grandparents more often than not, and who her Majesty is.
> 
> Thoughts?


	10. Unexpected Acquaintance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Woo! Again, short, but a necessary character introduction. 
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

_Black wave coming will it hit_

_I can taste the fear yeah it’s written on my lips_

_Sipping on a cold one waiting for the rinse_

_Woke up with an omen tatted on my wrist_

_Black wave coming will it drop_

_I can see the fear yeah it’s written on the wall_

_Who you gonna trust when the killer is the cop_

_Fire in my bloodstream, water in my lungs_

_Waiting on a black wave, running in a rat maze_

_Shaking in my own cage_

_What do I believe? I believe_

_Waiting on a black wave, living under bad days_

_Shaking in my own cage_

_What do I believe?_

_Stumbling down the street I swear to god you don’t wanna test me_

 

_“Black Wave” - K. Flay_

 

****

 

_**10yrs ago** _

 

_Watery dark blue orbs are staring at her with anger and sorrow, matching the emotions thrumming through her own body._

_“This is the only way, isn’t it,” he asks, the question rhetorical as they stare at the curse swirling around Henry’s motionless body._

_“Yes,” she croaks, eyeing the bottle clutched tightly in his ringed hands. “Do it now before it’s too late.”_

_Sniffling, shifting his gaze to a pair of tormented hazel glaring across the old witches altar at him, he nods resolutely, and lifts the glass to his lips. Drawing in a sharp breath, he murmurs, “May this find its way to Emma Swan, savior, mother, of Henry Mills. A curse has been cast, and a price paid.” He glances at her, tears freely streaming down her face in heartbreak. “You cannot undo it without losing the one you love most,” he warbles, “so stay clear, Sheriff of Storybrooke. Keep t’ yourself. Keep t’ the life and the choices you have made. Heed this warning. Or else.”_

_A knot in her throat is practically choking her, forcing her to swallow harshly around it as her companion pulls out a cork and plugs the bottle up--their message complete. With one last parting glance, he lets it slip from his weathered fingertips when a portal opens just a hair’s breadth away from the ground to be swallowed up and sent off to its intended recipient._

_Shuddering with the decision made, Regina startles when he grasps her trembling digits tightly, before focusing his attention back to his daughter while the magic of the curse finally swallows them whole._

 

_*****_

 

**_Hyperion Heights_ **

_**Now** _

 

     The summer sun is starting to warm the streets of the city with its stretching rays and bright illuminating face as Regina anxiously flicks Emma’s keys around her twitching finger. Aviator glasses blocking out her constantly sweeping gaze from prying passerby’s, she forces herself to appear relaxed in her heeled boots--each step she’s taking drawing her closer towards the yellow bug just down the block from her bar.

     She was the obvious choice in retrieving the beloved vehicle and the possessions within. Though she may be consciousness now of her new world, as far as she knows, everyone else isn’t it. Besides Lucy, Ivy, and Tremaine of course. So she needs to keep up her part as Roni, just to be sure there are no more triggers within the curse.

_We don’t need another incident like last night._

     Reaching the old Volkswagen, she’s surprised the car is still in the empty lot where it had been parked. Especially considering Ivy’s seemingly stalker habits. She would chalk it up to luck being on their side for once--chest tightening with nostalgic affection--if she wasn’t suddenly startled by the whooping of a police siren just as her fingers run along the hood of the VW.

_What in the hell?!_

     Turning, she watches an unmarked cruiser--with a breath hitching familiar driver--come to a stop just feet away.

_It can’t possibly be.....Can it?_

_Of all the timing in the world..._

     “Roni,” a dumbfounded Killian Jones carbon copy calls out once his vehicle is parked, “is that yours?”

     She hesitates to respond, eyeing him warily as she sweeps over him with distrusting chocolate orbs. _How is he here? Did Tremaine pull him up from hell? Or did he never make it? Andy why would she? Maybe the Queen was lying. Surely us talking about Hook didn’t somehow encourage the curse to bring his appearance about just now._

     Raising a questioning brow at her, he flexes his gloved left hand subconsciously, and she feels her unease instantly dissipate. Visibly relaxing, she tries to pull up some of her alter ego’s memories, and recalls the cursed name of the man waiting curiously before her.

     “Sorry, Rogers,” she replies with a grin, releasing a sigh. “You startled me for a moment.”

     “My apologies,” he waves off, eyes shifting to the bug behind her. “I was just wondering if this was yours.” He reaches out and taps the roof, aqua gaze roaming with a twinkle of familiarity. “I swear I’ve seen seen it before.” He glances back at her way. “D' you keep it stored away?”

     Gripping the keys in hand a bit tighter, she pulls her lower lip between her teeth--thinking of how exactly to answer him--before deciding to uncharacteristically trust her gut.

     “No,” she shakes her head, clearing her throat, leaning against the old car. “It belongs to a friend of mine. She arrived late last night for a visit.”

     Wish realm Hook--or Killian as she prefers--tilts his head in thought for a moment, then draws a step closer. “Y’know, Henry illustrated this exact bug in that fairytale book of his.” Roger’s right hand comes up to rub at his chin in contemplation. “I find that a bit odd, don’t you?” The appendage sweeps out as his brow furrows. “This shade of yellow isn’t particularly common.”

     “It’s certainly peculiar,” she agrees, eyes darting past him to the doors of her bar. “Speaking of, Henry had a bit of a medical incident last night.”

     Killian instantly stiffens in alarm, worry pinching his features. “Is he alright?”

     “He claims so,” she sighs, opening up slightly like she use to on many of the nights spent together while on their mutual adventures. “But I can’t help feeling he’s playing down how serious it was.”

     “What happened exactly?” A sympathetic hand reaches out to squeeze her forearm, and she can’t help but marvel at the difference between the two Captains she’s dealt with over the last almost forty years.

_If this had been the Hook Emma married, he never would have left her. Though I suppose it’s a good thing he doesn’t share his counterparts taste for women._

     “He had a heart spasm, a mini attack from what he claims is a mild murmur.” She shakes her head, pushing her sunglasses up so Roger’s can see the doubt and concern in her eyes. “But I’m worried it’s more than that. You know, with everything that’s being going on the last few days. I can’t help but feel...”

     “That Victoria and her daughter may be involved,” he cuts in, echoing in an unconscious roundabout way her belief on conditions added to the curse.

     “Yeah.” She shifts nervously, unsure if this persona of Killian will pick up what she’s putting down.

     They had two years before the curse to build a reliable friendship upon.

     Here though, they hadn’t crossed paths in the last decade until last week.

     “Would you like me t’ stop in and check on him?” She tries to downplay the wave of relief that sweeps through her at the offer. “Not like he leaves that apartment of his anyways, right?”

     Tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear, she asks tentatively, “Would you mind?”

     “Wouldn’t have offered if I did.” He smiles reassuringly, patting her arm once more. “I was heading there t’ talk to him about a few things anyway.” Stepping back towards his vehicle he offers, “Perhaps I can pop by later and catch up over drinks, eh? Maybe meet this friend of yours?”

     Wrinkling her nose in consideration for a second, she slowly nods and says, “Sure, why not. Just give me a call before you drop by. Don’t need my patrons thinking you’re stopping in to do a raid on me.”

     Smirking, Roger inclines his head in understanding, then parts with a shout, “Be sure t’ move that before it gets towed, Roni. I’ve already been t’ the impound lot more than once this week. I bloody hell don’t want t’ go back.”

     Laughing, she salutes with Emma’s keys, and watches the sedan pull away before getting behind the wheel of the savior’s beloved ride and following out onto the street just a beat later.

_Emma and her Majesty are going to have a shit fit over this..._

_But we need all the allies, cursed and uncursed, that we can get._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to piggy back this chapter to the previous one because I feel like it's necessary to understand that Regina, though alone, wasn't without alliance. Wishverse Hook is nothing like his other self, thankfully, and I want to see how everyone reacts to his presence. Not just that, but his relationship to Henry and Regina as well.
> 
> As I stated in my previous notes, he had been stabbed by the Hook we know, and healed by Emma. Since then he's bonded with the family that isn't exactly his, but that he could easily be apart of.
> 
> Also, there's that small detail of him possessing a daughter. Just like the other Hook. Hmmm....where did she come from? And is she a victim of this curse as well? If so, what role does she play at all in this twisted game of Ivy and Lady Tremaine?
> 
> **(Side note, I'm suffering from a serious case of deja vu in posting this, so if someone out there is experiencing the same thing, tell me how the hell we're repeating this and when. Please!)**


	11. Come As You Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm....Hi? I'm sorry.
> 
> Enjoy?

_ Come as you are, as you were, As I want you to be _

_ As a friend, as a friend, As an known enemy _

_ Take your time, hurry up, The choice is yours, don't be late _

_ Take a rest as a friend _

_ As an old _

_ Memoria, memoria _

_ Memoria, memoria _

_ Come doused in mud, soaked in bleach, As I want you to be _

_ As a trend, as a friend, As an old  _

_ Memoria, memoria _

 

_ “Come As You Are” - Nirvana (Blakwall Epic Rock Cover) _

  
  


_**Hyperion Heights** _

 

     “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

     The explosion of words has Regina racing up her steps before she even registers who is shouting.

     “No! I’m not going to calm down, YOU calm down!”

_      Emma. _

     Slamming the door to her apartment open, she’s a little surprised to find Henry’s mother in the midsts of a standoff with her darker self, yet again. Well...perhaps it’s more of a tantrum if her Majesty’s bored posture is anything to go by. 

     “What now?” Frustration and bewilderment coat her words, grabbing the blonde’s annoyed attention. Hands falling to her jean clad hips after tossing the keys to the bug onto the coffee table, she meets flaring nostrils and swirling hazel with a raised brow. “I’ve barely been gone ten minutes and you two are already fighting like an old married couple!”

     The Queen snorts, earning another glare from the blonde. 

     Crossing her arms, the Savior grumbles, “I’m not the old one here.”

     “Excuse you,” they both bite back with sharp indignation.

_      Old?! Like hell!  _

     Fingers going to the bridge of a fine nose, the younger woman pinches it while closing her eyes, drawing in a breath, visibly forcing her shoulders to relax. She would commend the Sheriff on restraining herself if she wasn’t so irked and confused about what the hell had set the former bail bondsperson off in the first place. The encounter from last night is fresh on the mind for all of them, and there is only so much patience shared between herself and her alter ego to tolerate outbursts like that.

_      Emma’s always had a short fuse, but this is ridiculous--former darkness aside. _

     “Were you able to get the bug without incident?” The question is a direct attempt by the blonde to just sweep whatever had been going on away...and she lets it happen.

_      For now. _

     “Almost,” she replies, digits moving from her hips to slip into her back pockets. Observant eyes follow the familiar hedging tick, making muscles tense once more. Biting her lower lip, she squints thoughtfully. “I just ran into another familiar face. One that.....may or may not be....welcomed.”

     The Queen groans, head falling back in a dramatic huff. “Please tell me it isn’t Maleficent.”

     “What?”

_      What? _

     Her and Emma look at the other woman in unison, perplexed to hear that name pass across her lips.

_      Maleficent? Why would she be anywhere but Storybrooke? _

     They are waived off, however, with a, “Forget it. Who was it? I hate having to deal with this much tension in the morning.”

     Eyebrows raising at  _ that _ , truly leaving her speechless for a moment, she blinks liked a gobsmacked fish out of water, before shaking her head and clearing her throat.

_      These two... _

     “Hook.” The women stiffen immediately, so she hastily adds, “Wish realm Hook. Killian,” she amends to the preferred name, “Y’know, the one that you,” she locks gazes with shocked forest eyes, “saved before going back to Storybrooke in that alternate realm.”

     “T-the one,” Emma glances at the Queen, processing her words with a growing frown, “that was suppose to stay with Henry? The one that...,” fingers identical to her own reach for purchase on the blonde’s forearm, “sent the message?”

_      Oh. _

     She had honestly forgotten about that.

     Taking in a steadying breath through her nose, giving herself a moment to collect those memories, she nods slowly, watching with a twinge as the younger woman shifts closer to her doppelgänger for obvious comfort.

_      ‘May this find its way to Emma Swan, savior, mother, of Henry Mills. A curse has been cast, and a price paid. You cannot undo it without losing the one you love most, so stay clear, Sheriff of Storybrooke. Keep t’ yourself. Keep t’ the life and the choices you have made. Heed this warning. Or else.’ _

     She can only imagine the pain cutting through her friend right now. The harshness of those words belying the agony they endured in even having to say them. The horror her and the Captain went through to protect Henry....as well as Killian’s daughter.

_      Alice. Oh, sweet Alice. _

_      Is she here? With us? Or did we, at least, spare her? _

     Shaking her head, sighing, she feels an edginess creeping upon her at the uncertainty of everything, and the fog that is still kind of hazing over her mind. She might be awake, but the curse wants her subdued, and she feels like she’s tripping over herself each time something comes up. Lost, gangly, as an ignorant foal.

_      First Henry, then Rumple, Emma with the Queen, and now Killian. _

_      What’s next? _

     “I sent him over to check on our son,” she informs, snapping out of her thoughts, watching the statement ease tautness from the connected bodies. “He’d like to stop by later tonight for drinks.”

_      Something I could use right about now. _

     Emma runs agitated fingers through her blonde locks, tugging slightly at tangled princess curls that remind her so much of that first pre curse year. For the briefest of seconds, she allows herself to wonder  _ (not for the first time)  _ if those fine strands are as soft as they look. She’s only ever brushed them in brief touches, her palms tingling with the slightest of yearning.

     Whiskey orbs, however, flick her way--as if sensing her hidden want--and she instantly squashes it. Moving to the kitchen to get a drink after all, she continues waiting the younger woman out between them out in silence.   

     This isn’t something she can push the Sheriff into.

     Not after everything learned in the past twelve hours.

     She can work with Killian alone, like before, if necessary. Have their own little ‘operation’ to bring Ivy and Tremaine’s charade down. Hell, it might be their best option if the curse pushes back against Emma’s presence in Hyperion like it did to Henry.

     There is no telling what consequences might come about with a magic wielder of her skill set residing in the Heights. Especially when the two--no-- _ three _ of them are united.

     “Fine. Let’s do it.”

     Her tone isn’t subdued, which gives her some relief as she turns back to the pair with a glass of whiskey in hand.

     “But I don’t want to meet him face to face at the start.” Emma’s demeanor is settled in that way of cautionary determination she has dearly missed. “Just in case someone is watching.”

     “Alright,” she agrees, getting a nod from her twin. “I’ll let him know to stop by.” That situation taken care of, she studies the other women for a moment, then asks, “What was it again you were fighting about?”

     ‘Cause yeah, she hasn’t forgotten about that. 

     Eyes rolling to the ceiling and body swaying in total petulance just like their son, Emma scowls at the Queen, replying, “Whose turn it is to do laundry. Pretty damn sure it  _ isn’t _ me, but  _ someone _ thinks their royal ass did it last time.”

_      Huh. _

     She just blinks for a moment, completely dumbstruck by the almost breakneck mood change...and the.....hominess of their behavior.  _ Of course. What else? _

     And that, is enough for her today.

     Shaking her head, feeling a wave of emotions coming on she’s tired of  _ (how coincidental) _ dealing with this morning, she waves off towards the keys still sitting on the table while making a beeline to her bedroom.

     “Laundry room is downstairs. I don’t care who does it, just don’t let the washer overflow.”

     Locking herself away on the other side of the hollow door, she hangs her head in bubbling weariness, staring forlornly at her bed. Muffled voices snark at one another through the thin plywood, making her gut twist in burning discomfort. Her eyes fixate on the rumpled sheets and pillows by the headboard.

     Unrelenting for one last parting minute.

     Reminding her that Emma was in here, talking to their family back home--just like The Queen--without her....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize immensely for such a delay in posting new chapters. Real life got super crazy (like someone was poking a voodoo doll version of me cra-cra) and I have been scrambling to get back to a pattern of normalcy for months.
> 
> If anyone has backtracked to reread this fic (because it's been so damn long) you will notice I haven't been completely absent. I updated my previous chapters to match my current writing style. Nothing plot wise has changed. No new facts have been added. Just a better, hopefully more enjoyable flow, for us all.
> 
> Considering this chapter....kinda feels like everyone got a good slap. Not really sure what's up with Mal, but I'm curious to see how Emma response to Wish Hook. ESPECIALLY after Regina has had to endure seeing the bond between Emma and Queenie. And that new tender thought/emotion poking out from her secret Savior heart shaped place. The blonde doesn't appear to me as the sharing time. She's always glared at most people the brunette spends time with. I can only imagine how she's going to feel when she witnesses the decent friendship that has built between a Killian that isn't a douche, and Henry's Mother.
> 
> Might just tilt her world in an unpleasant kind of way. 
> 
> To be fair though, no one is in a happy place right now. Not even the unawake.


	12. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Another update!
> 
> I hope this makes some sense, or starts enough questions swirling to get some puzzle pieces falling into place.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

_ Another day, shipwrecked can you hear my prayer _ __   
_ If you have the answer let me know _ __   
_ Stolen from another life, you appeared in mine _ __   
_ It doesn’t feel the same as it did before _ __   
__   
_ And the tide, it takes me away from you _ __   
_ And it brings me back again _ __   
_ And you slip like sand right through my hands _ __   
_ With every word you say _ __   
_ Oh, you’ll find me between the devil and the deep blue sea _ __   
_ And I’m going under _ __   
_ Oh, you’ll find me between the devil and the deep blue sea _ _   
_ __ And I’m going under

 

_ “Between The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea” - XYLØ _

  
  


**_Evil Queen’s Castle_ **

**_-7yrs, 5 months 23hrs ago_ **

  
  


     “Let me try again, your Majesty! Please!”

     “I said enough!” 

     The harsh words are far more an emotional outburst than a sharp command, her chocolate orbs burning with hurt and fury—matching that of the cerulean glaring across the glass coffin between them. She growls at the sneer drawing across his lips. The stench of desperation leaking from his sweaty pours.

     She aches.

     Not for his visible loss.

     But for her own that is reflected in his disheveled appearance.

     Hook’s hand comes down hard against the impenetrable magic shield surrounding the clear casket, radiating out a shockwave of anger and resistance. She swallows heavily at the display, chest heaving under the dark mourning gown she wears.

     “Why won’t it work,” he demands loudly for the tenth time in as many hours. “Why?!”

     “You already know,” she replies, tone wearily subdued like her soul.

     He sighs in agonizing defeat, the fight fleeing him, knees sinking to the marble floor. She watches, a gripping in her gut turning as he shifts his attention to the open doors across the room, down the hall to a matching pair—guarded and closed.

     Grief is a wild creature not to be taunted.

     One misstep. One irrational outburst on his part. And she might be forced to do what she promised she would not.

     “I can’t stay without her,” he finally mutters, head lolling in her direction though she refuses to walk around and face him.

     They are not on the same side in this instance.

     Their pain may be equal in some ways, yes, but they share no kindred in heartache.

     “That girl needs you.” The words are not for her. She doesn’t believe them.

_      But Emma would have said them. _

     So....

     “She needs a parent,” he rebukes in misery. “And we both know, your Highness, that I am no father.”

     “What then,” she asks—prepared for this woefully expected selfish decision. “You just,” she jerks her hand in a wide agitated arch, “flee like the coward you are to gallivant across the realms once more? To drown yourself in as much alcohol as your liver can take before it finally shuts down?”

     This time she does stalk around the delicate structure to stare down at the undeserving man-child. “Tell me, Killian Jones, what you would like me to say to  _ your daughter _ after you abandon her?”

     The words should be a slap to his senses.

     To remind him of what he has left.

     Of what they both uncomfortably possess in this moment.

     But the bastard merely snorts, staring up at her with dead eyes. “Tell her what you like, love. A lie from you will be far easier than the truth.”

     Her heart clenches at the verbal blow, and she takes a step back while he staggers to his feet.

     “Where are you going, Hook?” The question is sincere this time. She doesn’t give a shit about him, but his family?

     They are  _ everything _ to her.

     “Where we both know I belong.” He turns slightly to stare forlornly at golden locks splayed across a pillow. “She should have left me in hell with Liam and Milah,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “That was my Happy Ending, after all.”

     Bile races up her throat with the admission, but she locks her jaw and lifts her chin as he shifts his empty gaze her way. They hold each other’s stare for a few maddening beats, measuring the other’s worth in the silence of a woman that can no longer stand divided among them.

     Then he lowers his head and limps his way out of the chamber, down the hall, and past the door he can’t bring himself to pause at.

     Not even  _ “Goodbye” _ crosses his wind chapped lips before he departs the castle, and their lives, for good. Never to return to the land of the living once more.

 

*****

  
  


**_Roni’s Bar_ **

**_-Present Day_ **

  
  


     Emma’s sitting at the bar, watching in fascination as Regina ‘Roni’ Mills works her magic. It’s not the same as mixing potions in the Mayoral office, or putting drinks together at the mansion back home. It’s something else entirely new, and she can’t take her eyes off the woman getting ready for a busy afternoon of patrons.

     Not her skin tight band tank top.

     Nor her jeans, and sharp heeled boots. 

_      There is also that hair! _

     Who knew those kinky curls she easily recalls from their only night out with her mother could make such an impacting return?

     The visual is just so...so...

_      Sigh. _

     She doesn’t know this woman anymore.

     Not really. Not like she use to. 

_      Did I ever? _

     Shaking her head, she sips at the ginger ale provided to help ease over the magical hangover she’s still trying to recover from. Her Majesty had declared a need for ‘space’ after getting the laundry issue sorted, and since it’s too risky for her to be out and about in Hyperion Heights, here she sits—watching Regina do prep work.

     She expected the tension from this morning to follow them down from the apartment, and it has...but it doesn’t feel like it did earlier. There is this...neediness to it now. This crumbling dam of nervousness that hasn’t existed since Henry was eleven and they were trying to figure out how to both be his mother.

     How to coexist in each other’s life as more than just Emma the Sheriff and Regina the Mayor.

     Because they are forever entwined like that.

_      More so than she knows... _

     The bright sunlight from outside bounces off the golden weaves in her digits. She stares at them for a few beats, digging her teeth thoughtfully into her bottom lip. A ghosting sensation of touch caresses her fingers, jarring her from lurking dark memories, and she looks up to spot amber orbs subtly watching her.

     Clearing her throat, pushing the painful past aside, she catches Regina’s attention with a raised brow. The action draws the older woman over as she’s cleaning a glass, her own hands moving with assured ease.

     “How ya holdin’ up?”

     The speech pattern between Roni and Regina is so different that she has to scrunch her nose to avoid chuckling openly at the brunette.

     She shouldn’t find it funny, but...

     “Better,” she answers, giving the former Queen a warm smile once she can control herself. “Thank you for,” she raises the drink, “this and,” her voice softens, their gazes locking, “everything else.”

     Regina blushes, murmuring, “You’re welcome,” with a gravel to her voice.

     The action is shy.

     So unlike the woman from a decade ago.

     Or her other half upstairs.

     It’s an awkward push and pull. Familiar yet foreign. Strangers who intimately know more about one another than the other may realize.

     Yet strangers nonetheless.

     Regina’s phone pings just then, and they both glance at the device resting on a shelf under the counter. She can guess who it is by the way the barkeep’s shoulders tense, then relax after reading whatever message came through.

     “How’s Henry?”

     “Embarrassed I sent an officer of the law over to check on him.” Whisky eyes turn back on to her. “But otherwise fine.”

     She breathes a sigh of relief. “Good.” 

     The hazy memory of him collapsing sends a sudden chill up her spine, and warm skin grasps her own in understanding as she shifts restlessly on her bar stool.

     “Again, I’m sorry about last night.” Regina squeezes her fingers, curling them into her soft palm. It’s instantly calming, and she leans unconsciously closer to the woman on the other side of the stained wood surface.

     “You have nothing to apologize for,” she whispers lowly, letting her digits gently scratch against the brunette’s. “You had no idea we were coming, and we didn’t know what we were walking into. Just,” she sighs, the same weariness from the last decade pulling on her emotions like a weighted anchor, “let it go, Gina. Ok? We’re here now, that’s all that matters. Right?”

     A tongue darts out to wet carefully painted lips, while a chest draws in a deep breath, and those untamed strands bob once in agreement.

     “Right.”

     Emma feels the tension ebb slightly between them, and smiles reassuringly at the mother of her son. “Good.” 

 

*****

 

     Meanwhile, as the two mothers get reacquainted, Her Majesty is using her personal time to secretly check in once more with her second most favorite person in all the realms. 

     “Did you really toss mom’s white socks in with your blue blouse?” The question bounces with mischievous laughter out of Regina’s computer screen, and she smiles widely at Alyssia—giving her a coy look.

     “Perhaps. It truly was her turn to do laundry after all, y’know.” She tilts her nose up haughtily. “And I’m too refined for such a lowly duty.” 

     The young girl  _ tsk’s _ her behavior, but continues giggling until her cheeks are a rosy shade of delight. She warms at the sight, allowing herself to relax more fully in even the projected presence of her little love.  

     “I hope she learns her lesson then,” Emma’s daughter remarks dryly, earning a chuckle from her at the girl’s sparkling wit.

     “I’m sure she will, darling.”

     A comfortable silence falls between them, Alyssia swinging her feet off the edge of her bed while tilting her head curiously in thought. It’s in these moments that her half heart constricts with deep affection for the child. Reminding her of all that has come to pass between them.

     The loss.

     The pain.

     The dying hope and frustration.

     .....The love, and unity, they survived on, until hope sprang to life like spring pushing through a wintery fog, saving them both.

     It’s a bond no one has been able to fully understand except them. A cherished entanglement full of secrets neither are willing to bare outside one another.

     “Speaking of mom, where is she?”

     “Spending time with Regina,” she casually replies, matching a raised brow that gets sent her way. “They need to,” she locks her fingers together in front of the screen, “reconnect, so to speak.” She waves a hand dismissively as she pulls them apart. “Besides, I needed my space. You know how I am about sharing.”

     Alyssia hums, pursing her lips in a way that’s far too reminiscent of her grandmother. It’s an action that screams  _ ‘say what you will, but I don’t believe you’ _ and on anyone else, it would earn them a hard glare.

      But with her, she can’t help giving a petulant pout.

     Just a little.

     “It’s true,” she tries to defend, indignant at the continuing—knowing—stare. “I’ve been trapped in that car with her for weeks! You know how we are when we’ve been cooped up together in small spaces for so long,” she grumbles, lowering her chin into her chest.

     A soft sigh escapes the beauty on the other side of the continent, and she feels her heavy organ tug at the kind acceptance awash in hazel eyes.

     “It must be hard, seeing her after all this time, knowing what we know.”

     She swallows heavily, gaze falling to her digits now twisting around one another.

     It is. Far more than anyone, even Emma, could realize.

     Drawing in a deep breath, she starts haltingly, “When...the time comes, will you--”

     “Always,” Alyssia cuts her off boldly, easing her building distress with loving conviction.

    She wets dry painted lips, lifting her gaze slightly. “To the moon and back?”

     It’s idiotically hopeful.

     “And to the stars beyond all the realms.” But she never lets her down.

     Tears pricking her eyes, she avoids letting them fall by tilting her head back with a comforting hum of content happiness. “I miss you, little love.”

     “I miss you too, Queenie. But we’ll see each other soon.”

     “You think so, huh?”

     She doesn’t even have to look to feel the smile blossoming, radiating with its own kind of special magic.

     “I know so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to add the scene with Wish Realm Hook, but I felt like the ladies all needed a breather with one another.
> 
> Though Emma has spent a decade with her Majesty, so Regina in a sense hasn't been absent for her, the same isn't true for the brunette. That needed to be addressed. 
> 
> I also needed to set the emotional state for our loves with Killian Jones in mind. Emma might have her issues, but the people hit harder than her most definitely is Queenie and Alyssia. They suffered greatly at his departure. Plus, they are keeping secrets Emma is only partially aware of.
> 
> One that will impact everyone once the curse is broken and this family can finally be united as one.
> 
> Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> "Wish That You Were Here" by Florence and The Machine has been a song brewing a lot of my stories along. It's an anthem to the strings of emotions between Emma and Regina that need no fertilizer to grow. They exist in the ether. Timeless. Flowing. And calling out with a yearning that has to one day be satisfied.
> 
> Let me know what you think. Especially with the mystery behind Emma and the "Hyde" Evil Queen's journey to get where they are now. Not just in physical location, but their personal developments as well :).


End file.
